


You Smell Divine

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel and Demon True Forms (Good Omens), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Beelzebub/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens), Barbed Penis, Blood, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Broken Bones, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has Two Penises (Good Omens), First Time, Footnotes, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Hemipenes, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Internal Damage, Knotting, Non-Human Genitalia, Other, Pain, Painful Sex, Past Michael/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens), Penis In Vagina Sex, Pre-Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Purposefully Inaccurate Human Anatomy, Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens) Does Not Understand Human Anatomy, Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens) Has a Penis, Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens) Hates Michael, Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens) Is Evil, Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens) Lusts For Michael, Scents & Smells, Sexual Assault, Sexual Frustration, Size Difference, Soul Sex, Vaginal Sex, Wings, briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27750670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Lucifer hated Michael. He hated her in a way that could only have started as love. Any affection that he felt for her had turned into fury, rage, and hatred during the Fall. But he still lusted for her. He wanted her. But more importantly, he wanted her to suffer as he took his pleasure from her. Physically and metaphysically.But they were not destined to fight again for six thousand years. And that was a long time to wait, burning with hatred and lust.Then a demon returned from Eden, the scent of an angel still clinging to him. It wasn't Michael's scent, but it was close enough. He didn't want to wait six thousand years for his need for vengeance and other baser urges to be fulfilled. Not when he had an available substitute at hand. If Crawley was foolish enough to take shelter under the wing of an angel and return to Hell with the scent still on him, then he would simply have to pay for that mistake.Lucifer wanted Michael and he could pretend that's who he had.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens), Michael/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 47
Collections: Anonymous, Unhealthy Lucifer/Crowley fics





	1. Arousal

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing something that counts as truly NSFW. And it is definitely twisted and evil. Which is why this fic has been posted anonymously. It is not something I want my normal readers who read my other fics to connect to me.
> 
> I also would like to give you all this warning now. This entire scenario is not meant to be written as “sexy,” “hot,” or something that is considered healthy, sane, or safe in anyway. But sometimes horrible things make interesting stories and sometimes people want to be horrified by something awful in fiction that they know isn’t okay in real life. There’s a reason why we watch horror movies and so on. And that’s fine. I’m just warning you that if you’re reading this because you think it’ll be something kinky and titillating, you’ve chosen the wrong fic and should back out now.
> 
> Mind the tags. They are there for a reason.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crawley still has some innocence despite the Fall, angelic scents linger, and Lucifer gets worked up.

No one quite knew what being a demon entailed yet or what kind of place Hell would become. There was no precedent in place and in many ways, it was a learning experience. None truly knew what the future would bring after they were stripped of Her love and were cast out of Heaven, plunging an impossible distance to crash into pools of boiling and burning sulfur. They knew that She did this to them, that they were now in opposition of Her and the angels who did not Fall, and that in about six thousand years, there would be another War that would finish what the first one started. Beyond those clear facts, there were no true guidelines.

The first real goal that they set into place was to ruin Her perfect creation. The world and the precious humans that She created to live in it. They could not lash out against Her directly, but they could ruin that perfection. Which was why the moment that they knew that She had finished, an agitated Lucifer chose a demon at random and commanded him to go up to Earth to cause trouble.

And even if Crawley was still not quite certain that he did the wrong thing in encouraging Eve to taste the fruit and everything that it caused, he was thankful that he was the one who was pointed towards in the crowd of demons who were still trying to figure out their corporations.

Because that was the problem. In order to interact with anything on Earth and to offer at least a little protection for their true forms, angels and now demons would need a corporeal body. Something that operated on the physical plane properly. Something that could handle a bit more wear and tear; a damaged corporation could be fixed with the proper application of power or a replacement, but injuries to their true form could only be healed by an actual healer or time. And for convenience sake, having a shape that was similar to the humans would be best. It would make it easier to interact with them, tempt them, corrupt them, and avoid frightening the young species to death inadvertently.

Unfortunately, Adam and Eve were relatively new and none of the demons knew for certain what a human actually looked like before Crawley’s assignment to Earth[1]. They’d been cast out of Heaven before She could actually create the pair. Lucifer had snuck in and seen some of the plans for the various creatures meant to populate the world. Plans that he was not allowed access to since his role had nothing to do with the task, but a rather minor addition to his overall rebellion. As the ruler of Hell and their leader, he claimed the first corporation and it was based on his memory of what he found skimming over the various plans. But after Crawley actually saw Adam and Eve wandering around the garden and the other demons devised a method of glimpsing events happening on Earth, it became clear that Lucifer messed up on some of those details.

Not that anyone was brave enough to point that out to him. And since Lucifer seemed to enjoy the extra height[2] that let him loom over the other demons, he seemed content to remain in his unique and inhuman physical body.

Crawley didn’t know what to expect when he returned to make his report and, after Dagon took down the official version, was informed that Lucifer himself wished to also receive a more personal account of what he’d achieved. Apparently rumors of Adam and Eve’s banishment from Eden had preceded him through the new spying system and he was intrigued. It was a little overwhelming.

While everyone had heard Lucifer speak and his ideas of change, that was back before the Rebellion. And even with all his questions, Crawley never got close enough to address them to the seraph himself. Then the War happened, the Fall, and demon kind licking their wounds in the dark and dank place that they were left with. And even if Lucifer pointed a taloned finger towards him in the crowd and gave Crawley the command to go up, that was still at a distance. This would be more personal and intimate.

But even as he stepped deeper into Hell, he found himself missing Earth. He’d spent a while there even after the humans tasted the fruit. It took time for Her to cast out her newest creations that She’d decided had failed Her, just like a third of Her angels. That gave him time to observe. More time than he expected. Long enough for him to watch the moon grow darker and then brighter over the numerous nights and for Eve’s stomach to swell. Long enough to slither and watch the humans explore, play, speak with each other, and curl together on the sun-warm grass and swim in the cool water. Long enough that he could study them.

And with that studying, Crawley managed to reshape his serpentine corporation into something closer in appearance to the humans. It wasn’t perfect and took a rather decent-sized miracle to shift his form that much, but he once shaped stars. He could manage it.

Which was why when he entered the large cavern that served as Lucifer’s current chambers, Crowley’s corporation resembled Adam’s physical form. It wasn’t a perfect match, but it was closer. Dressed in black robes, with paler skin,[3] and long coppery curls, he didn’t look much like a serpent anymore. Though neither Adam nor Eve possessed the black wings that he couldn’t resist displaying. His eyes and a few other features were proving more resistant to his attempt to reshape his corporation. And there were a few traits that he didn’t bother adjusting too much since they were under his robes and he didn’t have the patience to take all day about it. But he was satisfied that he looked reasonably presentable for the unexpected private audience.

Since their crash landing, the majority of the demons had been put to work on digging out and expanding the subterrain domain. Most of it needed to be done physically. Their powers seemed to be coming from Hell itself and their surroundings resisted direct manipulation unless it was by their ruler. That left the demons working slowly at expanding the crowded tunnels and caverns, spreading out and away from the sulfur pools and bottomless pits.

Lucifer’s personal chambers were one of the larger and taller spaces that they’d found, already waiting for them. It wasn’t as impressive as the cavern being shaped into his future throne room, but the size and emptiness of the space almost felt like a darker version of Heaven without the view.

There was no actual throne in his personal chambers; they were saving that for the actual throne room, an elaborate one carved from the blackest stone and worthy of serving as the seat of his power. Instead, there was a simpler stone seat in the converted cavern. The floor was smooth and polished to a surprising shine. It reflected the light from the burning pits in every corner. The walls themselves still looked like a cave, jagged and uneven stone. The back wall had a large stone ledge, creating a natural lounge space that could easily fit a few dozen demons. As long as no one minded the rough surface. That’s where Crawley saw Lucifer, casually sprawled on the large area with the same ease that Adam would rest on the soft grass.

The burning pits that gave the room a flickering orange light and sent shadows dancing across the rougher surfaces also ensured that the chamber was warm. So why did Crawley shiver slightly?

“Come closer,” commanded Lucifer, sitting up and climbing off the ledge.

Crawley remembered the first time that he saw Lucifer in Heaven. None of them had corporations back then. There were only their true forms. And he was a seraph back then, someone far larger and more powerful than the angel that would someday be Crawley. He wasn’t anything special. Crawley wasn’t even powerful enough to remember his old identity like some of the stronger Fallen had, though most had rejected their old names regardless. No, Crawley hadn’t been anything special, but Lucifer… He’d been something that inspired awe and loyalty. When he spoke, angels listened. He was a bright and shining entity, but also red and fiery at his core. There was something reptilian about the sharp claws, talons, eyes, and the mass surrounding his core essence. Not a serpent; more like a giant lizard of fangs and flames. He’d needed to half-hide himself with some of his six-wings to avoid harming the weaker angels.

Lucifer, the Light-bringer, the Morning Star, and so many other titles that could never properly capture his true nature back then. There was a reason why so many followed him when he said that She needed to explain Her reasoning on a few decisions, that She should change a few things, that they could do better than what She was planning, that they deserve to know and understand Her plan, and that She couldn’t keep hiding things and demanding blind loyalty. He’d said so many things to them and he led them into Rebellion before anyone knew the meaning of the word.

He didn’t shine like that now, if Crawley peeked on a different plane. _He was still huge, powerful, and fiery. Perhaps even a little larger now that he ruled over the entirety Hell and the Fallen, trading Her love for further strength. But it was a darker fire that burned and crawled along his form. And while the core of his being remained just as unimaginably strong, immense, and a swirling shape composed of flames, breath, and power that dwarfed Crawley, there was also a darkness to it that made it look shadowy and dangerous. He looked like someone capable of starting a War against all of Heaven and_ Crawley didn’t want to look any longer because he didn’t want to think about that part of the recent past.

But his corporation was similar intimidating and overwhelming, though that was on a physical level rather than a metaphysical one. He stood at close to six and two-thirds cubits tall[4] and he’d retained the red coloring of his true form in his physical body. He had wings, but they were leathery things instead of proper feathered ones. One of the plans that he’d glimpsed must have mentioned that mammalian creatures did not have feathers and chose another type of wing. He didn’t wear dark robes on his entire body like Crawley did; Lucifer had shed the upper half to leave everything above the waist exposed, letting the excess dark material drape down behind him. His hands ended with sharp claws instead of the blunter nails that Crawley had seen on Adam and Eve. Sharp fangs filled his mouth and a ring of thick black horns sprouted from his head, encircling it like a crown. His dark eyes shone when the flickering light hit them at the right angle. And those eyes watched Crawley closely.

Crawley tried to ignore the uneasy feeling of being in Lucifer’s presence and the center of his attention. It was just nerves from being close to someone so powerful and important. Lucifer was the former angel who stood up against Her, fighting and resisting Her rule in the name of all who wondered, questioned, and doubted. He faced off against Archangel Michael in single combat, meeting Heaven’s greatest warrior blow-for-blow. And when they were cast down, he was there when they crawled out of the sulfur pools and declared that it wasn’t over. That they would claw their way back up, tougher and stronger than before. Being alone in the presence of someone like that was bound to be overwhelming.

And Lucifer keeping the larger and more powerful corporation for intimidation purposes made a certain amount of sense. Crawley had noticed that several of the Fallen seemed more short-tempered, aggressive, and combative immediately after they were cast out. A tendency that he kept trying to convince himself hadn’t worsened upon his return from his time on Earth. The former angels hadn’t gotten worse. Not really. And even if they had, Lucifer would straighten them out. That’s why he kept that corporeal form. Striking a more intimidating figure would make it easier to assert his authority and maintain the peace. At least until the other demons settled back down.

Crawley did his best to ignore how much those rationalizations sounded like excuses. He’d already had his illusions about Her, Heaven, and the remaining angels shattered. He needed to keep faith in something. He needed to keep faith in the idea that he didn’t Fall for nothing.

Bowing respectfully, Crawley said, “Lord Satan, Lucifer, Samael, the First of the Fallen, the Adversary, King of Hell, and Ruler of Demons. Thank you for this honor.”

Stepping closer, he said, “An honor that you have earned. I have heard some of what you’ve accomplished on Earth. Rumors are already spreading about how you tempted Her favorite creations into disobedience.” Giving a deep and quiet chuckle, Lucifer added, “Though I suspect that the stories are quickly becoming exaggerated.”

Crawley managed a nervous chuckle of his own. He couldn’t see any problem with that. If the whispered rumors ended up improving his reputation, where was the harm in that? Not his fault if people assume things or stretch the truth to make a better story with each retelling. But he should at least ensure that Lucifer knew the truth.

“I don’t know what the rumors are saying so far,” said Crawley, turning slightly to keep an eye on Lucifer as the taller figure slowly circled him, “but all I needed to do was ask Eve a few careful questions and let her curiosity take over. It didn’t take that long. Though I don’t know why She waited to punish the humans since She must have known about it immediately. And I don’t know why the punishment ended up being so severe for their first mistake—”

“Because She is cruel, merciless, unforgiving, and ruthless,” he snapped, interrupting Crawley. “As are those who remain loyal to Her.”

Something in his tone sent another chill down Crawley’s spine, making him shiver. Or maybe it was the strange musky scent in the air, growing heavy in Crawley’s nose and mouth. He didn’t like it. Something about the scent made him deeply uneasy. And he didn’t seem to be the only one who noticed it. He kept seeing Lucifer’s nostrils flare, breathing in deeply.

“One of the rumors claim that you fought a whole squadron of angels in order to enter Eden,” said Lucifer, stepping closer. Crawley took an involuntary step back. “They can’t decide if it was a group of principalities or if there were cherubim instead.”

He kept stepping closer and Crawley kept backing away. The way Lucifer loomed over him was starting to cross the line from intimidating towards something else. Something that Crawley didn’t want to identify. He just kept backing up until he bumped into the rough stone wall.

He realized too late that Lucifer had carefully turned and maneuvered him until Crawley was trapped. He was against the back wall of Lucifer’s chambers and the furthest point from the single entryway. While the ledge reached near the top of Lucifer’s thighs, the edge was currently digging into Crawley’s back just below where his wings met it. It wasn’t comfortable and he wanted to pull away. But there was nowhere to go. Lucifer was so close that the dark fabric of his robes nearly brushed against Crawley and he could see how he’d cinched it tight around his waist since he’d ignored the upper portion of the robes.

“No fighting,” Crawley said shakily. “I didn’t fight any angels.”

“No?” Lucifer leaned in, his clawed hands settling on the ledge on either side of Crawley and trapping him further. “Then why do you smell **divine**?”

For a moment, he didn’t understand. Then Crawley realized.

The angel. The kind one on the wall. The one who risked doing the wrong thing in order to do the kind and generous thing, offering what protection that he could to the humans that She had forsaken. The angel who spoke to him, who smiled at him, and who protected him from the rain by shielding Crawley under his wing. They’d stood there through the entire storm. Crawley remembered the bright, warm, and airy scent. It had the strong and uncomfortable hints of holy, divinity, Heaven, and all things connected to Her, but there were things more unique to that specific angel. Things that reminded him of dust, sunshine, and warm things that made him forget how it felt to have Her abandon them. They stayed there long enough that Crawley stopped paying attention to the scent that surrounded him just like the angel’s sheltering wing.

And he didn’t notice that the scent clung to his own wings, robes, and hair by the time they parted. Not until Lucifer mentioned it now.

Crawley swallowed. He could try lying. He could try making up an excuse. But Lucifer had promised to be everything that She had failed to be. That would mean that Lucifer should be understanding, reasonable, and merciful. Even if that talk with the angel was a mistake, Lucifer wouldn’t condemn him for a single small mistake. Not like She did.

Besides, somehow lying felt more dangerous with Lucifer looming over him, some nameless thing burning in his eyes.

“There was an angel on the wall,” said Crawley, his voice coming out as a tight whisper. “He… He was nice. He didn’t attack me. So I didn’t attack him either. We talked a little. And then I left. That’s all, Lord Satan. Nothing else.”

Lucifer took a deep breath as he leaned over Crawley, eyes closing briefly. When they opened again, the reflected light made them seem to glow. The way he looked at Crawley reminded him of how the lion looked at Adam and Eve. A predatory hunger. And Crawley had no sword, flaming or otherwise.

“He was nice,” said Lucifer, somehow sounding condescending and like he was purring the words at the same time. “And you were **nice**.”

The Crawley was slammed back against the stone behind him, Lucifer’s hand pressing hard against his chest. His heartbeat immediately sped up as fear bubbled up from his stomach.

“Do you honestly believe that any angel would be anything other than untrustworthy and treacherous?” he growled. “That they deserve any kindness or mercy? When they turned against us that easily? Did the War teach you nothing?” The other hand slid down, letting Lucifer wrap his fingers around and pin Crawley’s arms against his sides. “There was an angel that I thought could be trusted. Who would never betray me. But she proved her true colors in the end. And when I see her again, I’ll do what you should have done to that angel on the wall instead of being **nice**.”

He tightened his grip on Crawley, the bruising pressure digging the tips of the claws in. There was anger in Lucifer’s eyes alongside that hunger. Both of which terrified Crawley. He was panicking and shaking, unable to stop. And the heavy musky scent had grown thicker. Almost to suffocating levels. The scent was coming from Lucifer. That realization hit hard. Crawley didn’t know what it meant any more than he understood the hungry expression, but it terrified him.

He’d already Fallen. There wasn’t much worse than that fate. At least, no one knew of anything yet. But Crawley was scared that he was about to find out what else could happen to him.

“Or perhaps,” continued Lucifer in a deep, rough, and eager tone, “I can come up with something more.”

Not loosening the grip on Crawley’s physical body, _Lucifer’s true form launched towards Crawley’s smaller shape. Claws, fangs, and talons grabbed at the interlocking serpentine rings, twisting and pulling at the loops. Ichor oozed up as he dug in. Lucifer wrestled the smaller demon’s true form close as Crawley screamed_ on multiple planes. _The huge fiery entity held him tight as he yanked and rearranged Crawley’s true form until he exposed the essence at the core of Crawley’s self. That sent Crawley’s panic to greater heights. The state that Lucifer force him into was too intimate, too vulnerable, and too helpless._

_The most reliable way to destroy an angel or a demon was to tear apart the constantly shifting, burning, and amorphous core. The center of their being. The very essence of themselves. The source of their emotions, awareness, power, and existence. That was what everyone targeted during the War, tearing their way through their opponent until they could reach that vulnerability._

_Held immobile by the various limbs digging in deeply enough to draw ichor and terrified at having his most vulnerable weakness exposed_ , Crawley didn’t notice that Lucifer had lifted his corporeal body until he slammed down again. This time, landing flat on his back on top of the ledge, Lucifer crouching over him. One hand gripped Crawley’s wrists as he forced the smaller demon’s arms above his head. Lucifer’s hungry gaze dragged up and down his form as _he brought his own exposed core close to Crawley’s essence_.

_There was no contest. Lucifer’s true form in general and his dark burning core specifically were both much larger and stronger. Comparing their cores was like comparing a white dwarf star to a red giant. Exposing his essence and bringing it so close to Crawley’s must be an intimidation factor, demonstrating how much more powerful Lucifer was and that he had no fear of Crawley escaping his grasp to retaliate. It was the only reason that made sense. And Crawley was certainly intimidated. He was completely outmatched._

He was going to die. That thought filled him as much as the scents of sulfur, the angel, and Lucifer’s overpowering muskiness filled his mouth and nose. Crawley struggled as much as he could with his arms pinned above him, his wings half-crushed under him, and Lucifer moving his knees between the smaller demon’s legs, forcing them uncomfortably wide and making it impossible to move them anywhere else. He was about to die. He knew that. _He could feel the heat and power radiating from Lucifer’s essence from how close he was. Crawley’s exposed core was perfectly positioned for the draconian talons and fangs to rip his essence apart. He was too small and weak in comparison to the former seraph_. Lucifer was about to destroy him. All because Crawley was nice to the kind angel.

It was the only explanation. What else could Lucifer possibly want?

* * *

1 Which was why Crawley’s assigned corporation was a large serpent instead of something immediately more humanoid. There were a few former angels among their numbers who were involved in working on reptiles, insects, amphibians, and fish. [ ↑ ]

2 Someday, on a tarmac of an airfield in Tadfield, he would use his powers to make his corporation even larger. But in the beginning, being a little less than twice the height of everyone else was more than enough for his purposes. [ ↑ ]

3 Very similar to the complexion of the angel that he glimpsed on the wall right before his transformation. [ ↑ ]

4 Which would be close to three meters tall if you wish to use less biblical measurements. Or, if you’re a stubborn American who refuses to adapt to the metric system, ten feet tall. [ ↑ ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used this site [for visualizing the size difference](http://www.mrinitialman.com/OddsEnds/Sizes/sizes.html) between Lucifer and Crawley. Lucifer is about 10 feet tall and Crawley's height is 6'1" since that's his actor's height. Just plug the numbers in and you can get a good idea of what we're dealing with.


	2. Penetration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucifer and Michael have a history, the King of Hell is willing to pretend, and Crawley learns that bigger is not always better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the first chapter didn’t really have much NSFW material. Let’s just say that this chapter makes up for that fact. It is also proof that I did far too much research and math.

Once upon a time, before Time was properly established, Lucifer and Michael had been considered two of the most important angels in Heaven. One of the powerful seraphim meant to sing for Her and ensure that Her work was done, Lucifer was considered the most talented and skilled of those who spent their time near Her throne, the seraph that the others often turned to for answers and who could convince anyone of what he wanted. And Michael was Her greatest warrior, protector, and leader of Her armies. Both were similarly strong and both held positions of power within their ranks. It was only natural for them to be close.

In fact, they were among the closest of angels. Closer than anyone except for Her could guess. And they’d formed a very intimate bond.

Because angels did not reproduce, there was no need for sex. They lacked such organs in their true forms. But between angels who truly trusted each other and who shared a powerful bond with each other, She had given them a method to make a deeper connection. As long as they were similar in rank and power, because it could be overwhelming or even dangerous for the weaker member, there was a way for those angels to mix their essences together to share their emotions with each other. The act served a similar role in the relationship as recreational sex might among physical beings; a method of close intimacy and bonding that also caused pleasure in the process. And Lucifer and Michael had engaged in such things.

Many, many times.

She was beautiful. Her essence shown brightly like blue flames, powerful and burning impossibly hot. Gold metal-like sections wrapped around her, ideal to defend her core. And what wasn’t solid pieces of flexible armor, there was metallic scales that reflected like blue-gold and gave portions of true form greater flexibility without losing the protection. Sharp edges, bright eyes, and powerful limbs that shifted between limbs and blades moved constantly around, ready to strike out in any direction. She was deadly and glorious to behold. Who could not wish to be with an angel like her?

He’d trusted her. He’d shared with her. Sometimes he would pull her deep into his essence, reveling in the sensations that it brought and the positive emotions that he sensed from her. Other times, he would plunge his essence into her core and enjoy similar experiences. They found both configurations pleasurable and tended to trade on who was Giving and who was Accepting[5]. They took turns, alternating each time.

It was a simpler time, even if it was before Time.

But when Lucifer started seeing the cracks and the flaws in Heaven, the Plan, and Her, that close bond between them began to strain. And when the time came to choose sides, Michael chose Her over Lucifer.

After he Fell, he was no longer capable of love. Not for Her and not even for Michael. Not when she’d broken his trust and turned against him. But shattered love tainted by betrayal can be easily turned towards hatred. A powerful driving force that can end lives and worlds. Lucifer knew that in six thousand years, he would find Michael on the battlefield once more. And when that day came, their fight would end very differently. She would be the one to fall beneath his strength. He would be the one to decide her fate. And he knew exactly what he wanted.

Love can easily turn into hate, rage, and a desire to cause pain. But lust didn’t disappear quite as easily.

He wanted to hurt her, make her suffer, and break her. That much remained true. He wanted to cause her absolute agony. He wanted to experience her terror at knowing that Michael had lost, that She would not save her, and that she should have chosen Lucifer during the Rebellion instead. He wanted her to know that everything that she feared had come to pass and it was his doing.

But he didn’t want her to die. No, he wanted to mix essence with Michael like before. He wanted that sensation of pleasure, but now sensing her fear and pain instead of her affection. Lucifer wanted to claim Michael as his prize for winning the upcoming War. And if he had to wait six thousand years to defeat her, then he would spend the six thousand years after that making her suffer while he indulged in that intimate act with her. Willingly or unwillingly.

In fact, unwilling might somehow be better. More satisfying.

He would get that familiar pleasure. He would get as many times and often as he wanted. He would take an act that was once a sign of their close bond and affection, and he would turn it into a punishment for her betrayal of him.

But six thousand years was a long time to wait. And there was a demon in front of Lucifer, the scent of divinity and an angel clinging to him in a way that made Lucifer’s essence ache and caused something in his corporeal body to stir.

It wasn’t the same angel. Lucifer knew Michael’s scent. He’s spent too much time buried deeply into her essence not to know it. But there were some similarities. The angel from the wall was clearly created along the same lines as her, made as a warrior or guardian. The sharpness and tinge of flames felt like a shadow of her. And down in the depths of Hell and far away from Heaven’s greatest warrior, it was close enough for Lucifer. A reflection was better than nothing at all.

He breathed in the scent, looking over the terrified and confused demon that he’d pinned down. Intelligent enough to tempt one of Her humans into disobedience, but foolish enough to show mercy to an angel. Lucifer’s anger over that further fueled the fiery rage that always burned in him. The demon, Crawley, needed to be punished for refusing to attack an enemy of Hell. A flimsy excuse, but that was all that Lucifer needed. A reason to move forward.

Demons weren’t known for their imagination, but Lucifer could at least **pretend**. With the scent of an angel in the air, he could pretend that it was Michael that was helpless and vulnerable in front of him. And if he pretended, he could **practice** for what he would do in six thousand years when he had the **real** Michael in his grasp.

She would be scared too. And weak from the battle. Too weak to escape or fight back properly anymore. Just useless struggles against his overwhelming strength. Struggles just as useless as what Crawley was attempting. She would try to break free of Lucifer in just the same way. The thought made his corporation react slightly, a faint twitch beneath his robes.

Such thoughts had made his physical body respond before. Sometimes he would grow half hard thinking about her bleeding ichor and begging for Her help, knowing that no one would come for her. But no matter how vividly he pictured Michael in agony and helpless, suffering for what she’d done to him, his corporation would never go any further than just the slightest responses. It would fade away, leaving Lucifer frustrated and ready to take it out on the closest demon who annoyed him.

But this time, Lucifer had something more than just those thoughts. He had someone to play the part, smelling of divinity and a warrior angel.

He twitched his head and sent the iron door[6] of the entryway behind him slamming shut. No one would enter without permission. None would interrupt without due cause. And his chamber was already miracle against any sound leaving. Nothing would disturb Lucifer as he proceeded. With that detail dealt with, he turned his focus back towards the demon in front of him.

Whenever Michael claimed her own corporation, would it resemble Crawley’s physical form at all? Not his eyes, solid yellow serpentine things with vertical slits widened currently by fear. But would she have the same pale skin? Lucifer didn’t have any hair on him, but the demon possessed long ginger curls. Would she have red hair? Would it be long? No, she would prefer it short. More practical in a fight.

While forcing the demon’s legs apart had slid the hem up somewhat, Lucifer needed to see more. Still keeping Crawley’s arms stretched over his head with one hand, Lucifer reached with his left hand for the neckline of the demon’s black robes. He slipped a single claw in and pulled. Fabric tore under the sharpness as he slowly pulled down, splitting it open and exposing the rest of Crawley’s body. A thin wiry frame, his chest heaving from the rapid breathing of blind terror and shivering. The struggles had paused for the moment; he’d learned the futility of it and had fallen into a frightened helplessness instead. And after Lucifer studied the figure and made silent comparisons to what he might expect Michael to choose, he finally turned his eyes further down.

The yellow eyes weren’t the only signs that Crawley’s corporation had started as a serpent. There were a few small patches of dark scales on is sides and on his hips. Places where he either couldn’t or didn’t bother to finish. And as a final sign that Crawley’s transformation was only half complete was what lay between his spread legs. Human in shape and design, but not in number. A set of hemipenes rested limply side-by-side, surrounded by more dark wiry hair. And having twice the number as usual was not the only difference that Lucifer noticed from himself.

While he would not admit it publicly, Lucifer knew that he got details wrong when it came to crafting his corporation. He’d snuck looks at several plans for Her creations and while he’d seen the plans for Adam and Eve, Lucifer had forgotten things and mixed up the details of other plans that he’d glimpsed. It was difficult to keep track of everything. Especially when he was busy leading a Rebellion not long afterwards. But he’d made mistakes when it came to keeping the plans for Her creations straight in his mind. The evidence was on display in front of him.

One of Crawley’s individual hemipenes were smaller than what Lucifer possessed. Shorter and thinner by a substantial amount. Unsurprising since Lucifer’s entire corporation was much larger than anyone else in Hell. Everything was proportional and simply scaled up the appropriate amount. If he put both hemipenes together, their combined thickness might be closer to what Lucifer had. Though, since he had not witnessed either himself nor the pair of hemipenes at full hardness before, he could not say for certain how they would compare when they weren’t soft and limp.

And Crawley lacked the backwards, hook-shaped, keratinized penile spines that formed a thick ring just below the tip, the structures meant to drag along the inner walls during the withdrawing portions of the activity. Which seemed useful to prevent slipping out too soon and adding some extra resistance for every backwards movement. Friction was supposed to feel good from Lucifer’s understanding of it.

But Crawley lacking the penile spines meant that Lucifer likely mixed up the details and picked them up from some other creature. Perhaps lions. Lucifer remembered finding felines interesting. Michael would have liked the fierce and deadly creatures, the lionesses ferocious hunters and ruthless when it came to the kill.

Lucifer pulled his eyes back towards Crawley’s face. There was fear and confusion there, plain to see even with the shadows cast by the burning pits in each corner of the chamber. He could see it in his expression, in the way he still trembled, and _the way his true form remained tense within his hold._ But it was the confusion that was most intriguing. Crawley didn’t know. He didn’t understand what Lucifer wanted. What his essence and physical body both ached for.

He had never snuck in to glimpse Her plans and Lucifer didn’t think he was involved in any of the biological work. If he recalled, Crawley worked on building… moons? No, stars. It was stars. That’s right.

Regardless, Crawley had clearly had no knowledge about what Lucifer intended to do. Oh, he likely knew in a distant and theoretical way about mixing essences. But no one had ever considered the idea of performing such an intimate act with someone who might not want it, so the possibility would not have crossed Crawley’s mind. And the warmth forming deep in Lucifer’s belly and the slight twitch of something trying to rise under his robes would mean nothing to the smaller demon.

Not yet. He would learn.

Lucifer looked back down at the hemipenes. While Michael would certainly have only one, would her corporation be closer in design to Adam? Or would she prefer a shape closer to Eve’s? When he broke her in battle and dragged her damaged form back to his chambers to use for his own pleasure, what would he find? And what would he be able to do to her?

Perhaps a little practice with what he had in reach.

His left hand wrapped around both hemipenes and squeezed, producing a pained gasp from Crawley. Friction and pressure were supposed to cause reactions. He remembered that much. Lucifer experimentally slid his hand down slightly. There wasn’t much space; his hand was too large and, while grasping them both together made something thick enough to properly grip, they were still shorter than his own. But he moved along them, up and down.

He knew that his grip was painfully tight. The way that Crawley gasped and winced with every movement told him that. But it was producing a result. He could see the hemipenes darken slightly. He could feel them growing stiffer. And a little thicker and longer. Not much. Still not close to what Lucifer’s body possessed. But the change was noticeable.

“Pleassse,” hissed Crawley between gasps of discomfort. “Ssstop. Hurtsss.”

Yes, Lucifer knew that it hurt. His grip was tight and his movements rough. But he could also tell that something in that corporeal body was responding to the friction and pressure in a very different way. Crawley’s head and body might try to twist away, but his hips would occasionally try to move towards the ruthless sensations. Seeking out the stimuli that it instinctively wanted. Lucifer could see that he was causing the demon a lot of fear, confusion, and some mild pain, but he could also see that the rough treatment still managed to produce some slight pleasure. And that faint pleasure only made Crawley’s fear and confusion worse because the demon didn’t understand why he thought it felt good even as it hurt.

“Begging for mercy?” asked Lucifer, briefly squeezing even tighter and earning a pained whimper. “Do you think that will do anything? If there was no mercy during the War, why should there be any now?”

Michael would beg. Lucifer would push her to her breaking point until she was forced to beg for mercy. But she showed no mercy to him. No compassion, mercy, or hesitation at all. Just cold ruthlessness and obedience to Her. And he would show her no mercy no matter how much she begged. But he would make her beg. Beg, plead, and then **scream**.

Watching that fear, confusion, and pain grow and pretending that it was Michael in his tight grip sent a brief spike of excitement through him. And he could feel his body reacting. More strongly than it had in the past. Yes, having someone to stand in for her was just what he needed.

Lucifer considered his options even as his hand kept up the slow and painful motion. He could use this. An alteration to his own corporation and he could drive the twin hemipenes inside as he pulled Crawley’s essence deep into his core. Both of them together would fit inside Lucifer perfectly, stretching him out pleasantly even if they would be shorter than what he might want. He could use the dual sensations to cause himself pleasure long after Crawley was begging to stop, Lucifer pushing him beyond the point of exhaustion and overstimulation.

But the last time he and Michael mingled their essences together, Michael had been the one Giving and Lucifer had been Accepting. And they **always** alternated.

Without any warning, Lucifer released his grip and slammed the hemipenes flat down on Crawley’s stomach. The yelp of pain was ignored as he forced his power into the smaller demon. Any arousal that might have been forming evaporated at the uncomfortable sensation of Lucifer crudely and roughly shifting Crawley’s corporation. He didn’t try to make the changes any easier. The fire forming in his belly and the growing hardness beneath his robes was making patience difficult.

Crawley whimpered as his body obeyed the will of another. Lucifer remembered the plans for Eve better than he did for Adam, especially when it came to the internal structures. Mostly because he saw her design as further proof that She either didn’t know what She was doing or didn’t care. In order for Adam and Eve to be bipedal, there was a tradeoff regarding the pelvis that meant humans would have to give birth before their future offspring were developed enough. Otherwise, the large-headed infant would not fit through the pelvis. And even with the humans giving birth early in the infant’s development, Lucifer could not see how the process wouldn’t be sheer agony. A horrible design concept and proof that She was cruel even to her favorite creations.[7] But his annoyance meant he remembered Eve’s biology better than Adam’s and could force Crawley into the appropriate shape.

The hemipenes disappeared while a new entrance formed between Crawley’s legs. Lucifer banished the wiry hair that had been there before as well. He wanted to be able to see everything about what was coming. He wanted nothing concealed. And he knew that in Eve’s design, there was meant to be a small nub among the folds above the entrance. The nub was meant to have lots of sensitive nerve endings and to cause deep pleasure when stimulated properly. Lucifer left that entire structure out, leaving the area smooth and featureless above the tight opening hidden by two thin folds of slightly-darker flesh.

This was a punishment. Crawley did not deserve any form of pleasure. **Michael** did not deserve pleasure. The smaller demon would have to endure without any type of arousal to make it easier to bear.

His left hand grabbed the edges of the torn robe and Lucifer yanked it off and out from under Crawley, a small demonic miracle ensuring that he didn’t have to manipulate it off his arms, wings, or out from under his body. He tossed it to the left and out of the way. Then Lucifer reached down and slid the fabric from his own form, another brief display of power letting him skip the awkwardness of trying to slide it off his body. His own robes were sent halfway across the room to wait on his carved chair. And as a final touch, Lucifer added more power to the burning pits in the chamber until the light they produced grew brighter. Even tucked away on top of the rough stone ledge, there was enough light to see everything perfectly.

Both of them were completely exposed now. Lucifer could see every detail of the body stretched out before him. From Crawley’s eyes pressed tightly shut out of terror and the remaining discomfort over the forced transformation all the way down to where Lucifer had reshaped his form. And now Lucifer could also see his own corporeal body’s reaction to the unfolding events.

Before, limited only to his dark thoughts about what he would someday do to Michael, he’d only had limited responses from his body. Temporary and frustrating with no relief. This time, the reaction was visibly stronger. While his skin was normally reddish, he’d grown to a darker shade as he’d lengthened and thickened. Swelling even larger than his already impressive size. The change made the paler penile spines more noticeable. And he didn’t see the limp softness of before. He’d raised up somewhat as he’d stiffened, his physical body eager for what was coming. If he wasn’t fully hard yet, he must be getting close. Certainly close enough to proceed.

He’d positioned Crawley carefully despite his rough treatment of slamming the demon up on the ledge. Unlike the floor, the surface wasn’t smooth and even. There were bumps and dips across the stone. And Lucifer had dropped the smaller demon on a spot that was slightly higher than the surroundings. It didn’t raise him much. Just enough to make it easier for Lucifer to line everything up and still have the proper leverage. Even better, the slight rise wasn’t uniform. The bump raised a little higher on one end than it did on the other. It created a slight angle that had Crawley’s pelvis tilted slightly upwards, resulting in his legs being bent at his knees and spread wide around Lucifer’s hips as he moved closer. Crawley’s slightly raised pelvis was easier to access than if he was lying flat. It almost seemed to be inviting Lucifer in.

While he thought most of Her ideas regarding the design of humans in general and Eve’s configuration specifically was laughable, Lucifer did find one fact interesting. Their bipedal designed meant that, unlike most mammals, the entrance could be penetrated from in front as well as the more standard position of mounting the creature’s back. He liked the idea of options.

_Crawley’s true form didn’t resemble Michael. He was too small and weak compared to Lucifer.She had actually been slightly larger than him, an Archangel[8] as opposed to a seraph. And she didn’t have those interlocking serpentine rings. But the scales faintly resembled certain parts of her armored appearance. He could pretend as he moved his essence even closer to the smaller core._

As Lucifer carefully positioned himself to line everything up properly, not quite touching yet despite the growing heat in him, it brought the top of Crawley’s head right below his neck. He tilted his face down and inhaled deeply. The scent of the angel made that heat stronger. And Lucifer felt himself stiffen further, proving his previous suspicions. Close, but he hadn’t been fully hard even then. The intoxicating scent, however, would fix that.

His breathing quickened. Lucifer felt vaguely surprised. He hadn’t done anything yet.

His left hand reached down between them again, a clawed finger tracing its way down. Lucifer didn’t pause as he explored; he didn’t want to give away his plans yet by focusing on any one spot. If Crawley remained ignorant until they began, then his reaction would be more visceral. Lucifer found the entrance that he’d created, small and tight. It even felt like it tightened further as Lucifer brushed along it, a clearly unconscious reaction. Considering he’d seen how much his own size had widen already from arousal, he knew that he wouldn’t fit.

Not easily. Not without some force.

Enough force to get past that resistance. Past the resistance and through a tight opening far too small to admit him. Lucifer was strong enough for that to be an actual option for him. Pain would be unavoidable though. For the smaller demon.

Lucifer grinned.

“You made a mistake today. Mercy is not something offered to enemies,” he growled, his voice already sounding rough. “You should remember that already.”

He breathed in deeply. He thought about Michael’s true form. The bright, shining, and powerful shape that guarded an immense essence at her core. He thought about her wounded, broken, and terrified under him. He thought about her in a corporeal body spread before him. Michael held tightly, unable to escape. Her physical and true form vulnerable and exposed.

Lucifer never imagined that he would feel this stiff, a dull throbbing that radiated out from the aching source. He was ready. Holding back any longer sounded like torture. Unbearable.

He took himself in hand in order to make the final adjustments. He edged closer, his tip pressing lightly against the folds. Not yet trying to enter, though his muscles quivered with the effort not to. Just enough pressure to stay in place as Lucifer let go to grab the demon’s hip tight.

Holding Crawley’s wrists with one hand and keeping the smaller demon steady with his left, Lucifer’s muscles tensed and then **slammed** his hips forward.

The scream echoed around the chamber as Lucifer groaned in pleasure. Oh, that felt **good**. He’d barely made it in, but just enough for his penile spines to catch and keep him from slipping back out again. Even that much felt amazing though. The tight pressure sent ripples of pleasure through him. Almost as much as the pained sobs and wordless cries did. Crawley tried to get away, writhing desperately beneath Lucifer, wings thrashing as they were trapped under his own body, and _his coils struggling strongly enough to draw more ichor as Lucifer’s sharp talons tightened_. But Lucifer’s left hand kept the pelvis pinned in place.

He looked down. Even with his body blocking most of the light, the chamber was bright enough for him to still see where their corporations now connected. The entrance was stretched far beyond Crawley’s limits already, the flesh split in multiple spots and blood beginning to ooze. And it was merely the start.

Lucifer hadn’t warned the smaller demon before his rough entry and _he didn’t warn him before he sent the first portion of his essence thrusting deeply into Crawley’s core._ Another scream, this one absolutely horrified as well as hurting, rang out _on multiple planes. While the physical aspect might be unknown and frightening, mixing essences was an understood concept. It was a terror and a violation that he could comprehend. Any pleasure that mixing their essences together would bring was smothered out by fear_ and physical pain.

_And even with only that small connection in place, Lucifer could now sense Crawley’s emotions. His fear, his confusion and dread over what little he understood, and his pain. Lucifer didn’t share or experience that pain himself, but he could sense its presence. And that awareness sent further pulses of pleasure through him._

Muscles tensing again, Lucifer sent another sharp thrust of his hips and _his essence_ forward. And another. And another. The dual sensations were nearly overwhelming, leaving him moaning with pleasure. Each impact drove his length in only the smallest amount, but the warm pressure felt impossibly good as it squeezed tightly around him. It stoked the fire in him higher. And each tiny progression made Crawley scream again. _Lucifer sensed his increasing agony as Crawley’s flesh and inner muscles slowly tore further the deeper that Lucifer went._

Tearing his way into Michael. Ripping at her inner walls with his sheer width. The thought and the scent of angel made him pant harder as his next powerful thrust _sent a larger amount of his essence into Crawley than his previous ones. And he noticed a different kind of pressure forming, Crawley’s core starting to strain to contain Lucifer._

 _An interesting and surprisingly arousing development. He wasn’t even halfway done forcing himself in. How far could he push Crawley’s true form?_ _A demon’s core wasn’t a solid, liquid, gas, or similar to any substance of the physical world, but was instead_ _the constantly shifting, burning, and amorphous essence. A swirling shape composed of flames, breath, emotions, thought, and power. But it naturally tried to keep condensed together. What would happen if Crawley’s core tried to contain too much, forcing his essence further and further? There were reasons why mixing essences was only meant for angels of similar amounts of power._ The thought added further fuel to the flames burning inside Lucifer.

With enough length to work with now, Lucifer pulled back slightly, the drag of the penile spines adding enough resistance to make him groan deeply. It felt **incredible**. Another sharp motion sent him back in deeper than before. Pull back a small amount and then a powerful push further in. His corporation wanted this movement. It felt natural and right. Progress remained slow even as his pace began to increase. But the tight warm pressure around even part of his length and the friction caused the ripples of burning pleasure to keep building.

Building towards what, Lucifer only knew theoretically. But his corporation was eagerly chasing a more practical understanding.

An unfocused and wild flare of power tried to form, Crawley instinctively trying to use a miracle. Whether to escape, to stop the pain, or send Lucifer away, it didn’t matter. It was doomed to failure from the start. _Lucifer sent a sharp jolt of his strength and will into the demon’s vulnerable core, causing a new type of agony to his true form. One that would remind him of how easy it would be to snuff out his existence._ That tiny and desperate rebellion would not be repeated.

When only about the first third of his length was forced through the torn and bleeding entrance, Lucifer’s progress frustratingly stopped. He kept pulling back and pushing forward, but he couldn’t seem to go any deeper. The only positive thing was that the movement seemed a little easier; the passage torn wider by the repeated thrusts and slickened by blood. But it felt like he was hitting a barrier that kept him from going any further. And Lucifer wanted **more**.

Still thrusting in and out, pounding roughly against the barrier deep inside. Lucifer turned his eyes back down. Past the strained face as Crawley stared unseeing, sobbing with every motion and pain dilating his pupils until they were nearly round. He looked all the way to where he slid roughly in and out of the smaller demon, blood smeared across the entire area.

Then he noticed something else. On the last third of his hardened length, closest to his body, Lucifer could see it swelling up further. Not much yet. And it was slow and gradual. But still noticeable.

It took a moment for his lust-dulled mind to remember. The bulbus glandis. A feature that Lucifer was increasingly certain belong to a wolf instead of a human body, but one that he’d incorporated at the time. A structure meant to swell up into a large knot deep inside, growing until it locked him place, two to three times wider than before. But in order for it to work, Lucifer would need for it to drive himself in much deeper than the current obstacle would allow.

But he wanted it.

Lucifer pulled himself out until only the tip remained, held in place by the penile spines digging into the mangled inner flesh. He released Crawley’s hip to start stroking along his exposed length. It wasn’t the same sensation, but he could drag his hand far enough to reach the slowly swelling bulbus glandis. And that felt **sensational**. Especially when he squeezed extra tight behind the forming knot and pulled forward. As if he was already buried deep inside Crawley and trapped. The heat in him burned and roared, demanding that he feed those flames. The pace he set was brutal, leaving his hips trying to buck into his frantically-moving left hand as Lucifer grunted quietly.

Just a little further. Just large enough to make the knot stay.

 _The fear that he sensed from Crawley lessened, mingling with growing relief. Briefly confused, Lucifer realized that he’d stopped forcing his essence into Crawley’s core when he became distracted by encouraging the forming knot._ And though his left hand moved roughly, he wasn’t brushing against the smaller demon. Crawley was completely unaware. _Between not mixing their essences further_ and leaving his physical body alone, Crawley actually thought it was over. He thought the worst was past him. The sobs turned into tired tears of relief and his body began to relax. To encourage the mistake further, _Lucifer pulled most of his essence back out._

“Your screams,” he said between grunts, “were like music.”

Almost. His hand moved faster, squeezing tighter behind the swelling bulbus glandis. Almost large enough, even if it was nowhere close to full size.

“Again,” he said. “Scream for me.”

Lucifer let go suddenly, grabbing Crawley’s shoulders with both hands.

“Scream for me, **Michael!** ”

Everything happened in the same instant. His pelvis slammed forward with all his supernatural strength, his hands shoved Crawley down to meet him, and _he shoved over two-thirds of his essence in_.

His entire length plunged in fully.

The inner obstacle split and tore wide.

The knot forced itself through the entrance.

And Crawley **wailed**.

Lucifer’s head snapped back as he gasped, buried all the way to the hilt and _sensing a new level of absolute agony from Crawley_. The sensation felt overwhelming in the best possible way. Enough that he couldn’t immediately start thrusting again, though his body desperately wanted to. He could only pant as he felt the warm, tight, and **breathtaking** pressure squeezing along his entire length. He needed a moment to adjust. It was almost too much to bear even as he welcomed how **good** it felt.

Distantly, Lucifer realized what must have been in the way before. What he’d brutally torn through, driving himself in with that single powerful thrust. After all, he was the one who forcibly changed those organs. While arousal could shift certain structures out of the way to offer more space for penetration, he’d ensured that Crawley wouldn’t have that kindness. Which led to Lucifer driving himself straight through the cervix, shredding the inner tissue and plunging past it into the womb. He might even be stretching it out further, pressing against the far side of the mangled organ. No wonder Crawley was in such absolute agony.

That specific damage was unexpected, but acceptable.

 _Then Lucifer noticed that the pain, terror, and misery that he was sensing was weakening._ He looked down to see Crawley’s ashen complexion and his eyes starting to roll back. Lucifer released one shoulder to slam his left palm to Crawley’s chest, shoving his power and will into the smaller demon and yanking him back to consciousness. And anchoring his awareness in place.

“Don’t think that you can escape that easily,” he growled as Crawley’s screams resumed. “You **will** remain awake and fully aware of every moment of this.”

Lucifer could feel the fast and weak heartbeat through his chest, unsteady and trying to fail completely from pain, shock, and increasing blood loss. That wouldn’t do either. Another twist of power and the corporation’s heart had no choice except to keep beating regardless of how difficult it became. He would not allow Crawley to discorporate because the stress was too great for his body to handle. Nor would he let the adrenaline flowing through his veins dull or block the pain.

He wanted Crawley to have the full experience, not missing a second. Michael didn’t deserve the mercy or kindness of unconsciousness or discorporation. She would feel every sensation. Every moment of agony would be vivid and intense, letting him treasure her suffering.

And that thought destroyed what little control that he had. The swelling knot had continued to grow even without further stimulation, throbbing with every heartbeat of Lucifer’s corporation. But it wasn’t enough. Even as it forced Crawley’s inner walls wider and wider, splitting the flesh further, it was not enough. The burning fire in him roared, demanding Lucifer keep going. That he continue. He was building and climbing upwards towards something and he needed to reach that highest peak. Either he would continue or those fires would burn him from the inside out.

He needed to **move**.

Lucifer tried to pull back, but it was too late for that. The growing knot was large enough to hold fast, making Crawley cry out at the small movements. He would miss that delicious friction along his entire length, but the lust filling his mind again meant he didn’t linger long on the loss. He needed to **move**.

Lucifer rocked his hips forward. He groaned at the sensation, pleasure rippling upwards. It felt good, but it wasn’t nearly enough. He needed more.

He raised his hips above the ground. And connected by the still growing knot, Crowley’s pelvis lifted slightly off the rough stone surface. Then Lucifer snapped them down, adding a slight roll to the sharp motion.

 **There**. That’s what he needed. The impact felt similar to the earlier thrusts.

Lucifer fell into a fast-paced rhythm almost immediately. His corporation had lost all patience. Short, sharp, and strong motions. Pounding Crawley roughly between his relentless body and the unforgiving stone. Faster and harder.

Never pausing _even as he slammed more and more of his essence into the straining core. The pressure from the overwhelmed weaker demon trying to contain the immensity of the former seraph was a new experience that he never had with Michael, but Lucifer welcomed it_ alongside the sensations burning through his physical body.

He chased the growing flames in his lower belly, an inferno that his flesh couldn’t contain. Something was building there. He was close. The pressure of the expanding bulbus glandis turned painful, something too solid restricting the swelling, but he couldn’t stop. He had crossed the point of no return.

His fast and heavy panting not completely drowning out Crawley’s cries, Lucifer slammed down harder and harder. Pleasure shot through him in waves with every impact, but it still wasn’t **enough**.

Something beneath him cracked under the force of Lucifer’s eager and desperate movement. Felt more than heard, Lucifer’s rhythm faltered briefly at the unexpected destruction and Crawley’s ragged screams jumped in pitch. He’d fractured the smaller demon’s pelvis with his impacts.

Unintentional, but not enough to stop for longer than the briefest of moments. Lucifer couldn’t stop. He was too close.

He kept slamming down, breaking the bones further each time. Breaking the pelvis enough for his knot to expand the final amount. Multiple fractures, front and back.

And it **still** wasn’t enough to tip him over the edge. He was burning up with need. Lucifer pushed harder, grinding into Crawley’s shattered pelvis even as his body tried to somehow move faster.

Pained cries echoed in his ears. _His essence squeezed further into the straining core._ The scents of blood, sweat, and distant sulfur filled the air. And underneath it all, he could smell the angel.

**Michael.**

He raised higher and crashed down. And again. The impact jolting through him.

Bracing his hands on the stone surface, Lucifer yanked his hips as high as he could before driving them down and—

The building heat **exploded** free, a supernova that he couldn’t contain that hit hard enough that _all of his essence finally slammed into Crawley’s core fully_. His vision turned bright white, his back arched, his wings snapped out, and Lucifer **roared** from the intensity of the sensations pulsing through him. His hips continued to jerk forward in shuddering twitches. Hot release came in powerful long spurts. He saw stars, a whole universe of them. His muscles strained as the experience seemed to last an eternity.

But eventually the supernova began to fade into a soft and gentle heat, a few embers instead of an inferno, letting Lucifer slump forward. Panting as his muscles seemed to melt away. And while there was still a tight pressure along his entire length, there was no urgent need to seek out friction or stimulation. Just a comfortable laziness that settled over him. His thoughts could barely make it through the pleasant cloud filling his mind in the aftermath.

After a few moments of basking in the warm glow left behind, Lucifer noticed that something seemed off. He turned his attention away from the physical. _And he realized that he’d pushed too far. Forcing Crawley to contain the entirety of Lucifer’s immense essence was tearing his core apart. Visibly shredding and falling to pieces under the pressure. Being destroyed by the mere pressure of the more powerful entity._

_True destruction. Not discorporation. Angels and demons died from such damage._

_Lucifer withdrew a large portion of his essence. Not enough to make it painless, but enough for Crawley’s now-damaged core to stabilize. No reason to destroy him. It would be a waste._ And with that problem dealt with, Lucifer returned to enjoying the satisfied feeling curling inside him.

After some time had passed, a quiet scraping sound made Lucifer lazily open his eyes back up. Crawley’s hands were scrambling on stone. Trying to get the leverage to crawl backwards out from under Lucifer. Weak, shaking, pale, but desperate to get away while he thought Lucifer wasn’t watching. Amusement slithered in lazily where arousal used to be. He waited silently, his weight supported on his elbows as the smaller demon remained ignorant of the attention. When he got his arms braced, Crawley pushed hard. Lucifer felt some mild discomfort as the knot caught in place, but Crawley cried out at the unexpected pain to his abused entrance.

“That’s not going to work yet,” said Lucifer casually, making Crawley flinch. “You can feel it, can’t you?”

Lucifer reached between them. There was a tightness in Crawley’s stomach. Perhaps muscles tensed from pain or the internal bleeding accumulating. He moved his hand lower, enjoying the way the smaller demon shuddered. Right above where the pelvis bone should curl around to the front, he felt where the flesh was noticeably distended. The knot was larger than Lucifer had expected it to be. He pressed down hard, earning a pained gasp from Crawley. Lucifer could feel the pressure of his hand through him. An interesting sensation. Dragging his hand along, he could feel the shattered pieces of bone grinding and shifting under the pressure he applied. Sobs followed his progress.

Lucifer closed his eyes and pressed down again. He pretended that it was Michael choking back the broken whimpers. He pretended it was her shattered pelvis that he was pushing down on. He thought about how much internal damage the knot would do to her even as he felt it shrinking. And the cervix was not designed to allow anything through the thin passage. _He still had enough presence in Crawley’s wounded essence to sense the continued agony of the smaller demon._ Lucifer thought about Michael in that same intense pain.

He was mildly surprised to learn that while the bulbus glandis was still shrinking back down, the rest of him could harden slightly. Lucifer felt the dull throbbing restart. And the gentle warmth in the pit of his stomach, the cozy embers of satisfaction, started flickering back into small flames of desire.

When the knot had shrunken back down, Lucifer carefully started sliding out of Crawley. Blood and other fluids followed his slow retreat. The scrape of his penile spines, the drawn out friction of it, made him stiffen slightly.

How interesting. His additions to his anatomy would make it very easy to trap himself in an endless cycle of pleasure. The knot would give him time to recover his strength and the penile spines would start things back up. Perhaps She should have followed his design instead for humans.

_Relief. Lucifer sensed relief from the weaker demon. Relief outweighing the exhaustion and pain. Relief and hope. Crawley’s emotions angered him, causing Lucifer to want to lash out with his true form._

How dare he? He was not allowed to experience relief and hope. He was meant to be suffering. Michael must be utterly broken, unable to scrounge up any positive feelings. That’s what she deserved and Lucifer would accept nothing less.

Anger, hatred, and malicious cruelty fed back into his lust. Stoking the flames up. By the time he’d pulled out until only the tip remained once again, Lucifer had returned to a half-hard state.

Crawley shuddered, but his body seemed to be relaxing. Once again believing that it was over. And technically he was right. Lucifer had reached the completion that he was after. It should be over.

Which was why the broken and bleeding demon wasn’t ready to be dragged across the stone ledge toward the edge and flipped over, the penile spines twisting into his ruined flesh as Lucifer remained inside him. The new position let Lucifer stand upright on the smooth floor while Crawley remained bent over the ledge. His legs dangled limply down, blood and other things running down them, until Lucifer forced Crawley’s limbs to either side of his hips. Straining them past their limits. He could feel them shaking from the pressure. Lucifer’s hand slammed down on either side of Crawley, spreading his black wings wide at a painfully awkward position and pinning them with his weight.

He grinned down at the smaller demon, arms forced forward by the way Lucifer held the wings and his hands scrambling uselessly on the stone. The height and angle were perfect for the access that he needed. As if the ledge was made specifically for the task. And he could stay upright enough to properly watch. He could see the scrapes across Crawley’s back from the rough stone and the way his muscles trembled with the same fear and mounting dread _that he could sense swirling in his essence_. He could see where the blood and other fluids were still running down the stone. And most importantly, he could see himself. Where his hardening length was barely in the torn, stretched, and bleeding entrance.

“Did you think it would be that simple?” he asked. Giving a sharp-edged grin, Lucifer said, “Now, time to go on your belly.”

* * *

5 There were no proper terms for the roles when it came to mixing essences. At least, none that was standardized among the angels. It certainly wasn’t divided depending on genders. Genders were more of an amusing pastime than anything. [ ↑ ]

6 Humans might not be ready for things like mining, smelting, or forging metal, but angels and demons possessed things like clothing and metal objects because they could skip the steps of learning to produce them. If angels could have swords and spears for the War, then a metal door for Lucifer’s personal chamber was something that he would insist on. [ ↑ ]

7 There were several species that made Lucifer question Her logic and added further evidence that they should not be blindly obeying someone like Her. Along with the narrow pelvis and birth canal of humans for their large-headed offspring, there was also the laughable diet of koalas and the fact that horses always seem to be on the verge of giving up and dying from almost anything. An all-knowing Creator should be capable of producing better living creatures than those flawed examples. [ ↑ ]

8 Not an archangel. The capitalization made a huge difference in rank and strength. [ ↑ ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. He’s not quite finished yet. Poor Crawley…
> 
> But remember how I said I did a lot of math for this? That’s because I wanted to ensure that I had a good mental understanding of exactly how much damage Lucifer would cause.
> 
> I found the average lengths and widths for an average man’s equipment, figured out the ratio between those sizes and the person’s height, and then scaled it up for the ten-foot-tall Lucifer. This gives the measurements of 7.63 inches long limp, 9 inches long erect, 7.91 inches circumference, and a 2.52 inches diameter. Then there is the knot, which apparently swells up 2-3 times larger in diameter. Which means Lucifer’s knot would be 5.04 to 7.56 inch in diameter.  
> Compare those numbers to the average size of a vagina, which is 2.8–3.1 inches in an unstimulated state and 4.3–4.7 inches during sexual arousal (which Crawley isn’t). And the average width along its length is between 1.0 and 1.3 inches across. It can stretch if you take your time and stretch things carefully… But Crawley doesn’t get that luxury.
> 
> All this math means horrible damage and pain for him. And it is why Lucifer had to tear his way through the cervix (which is not meant to admit anything larger than sperm outside of childbirth) in order to fit in all the way. He’s essentially shredded and torn Crawley’s insides.
> 
> And now he’s going for a second round.


	3. Climax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which scents trigger strong reactions, Lucifer brutally pursues what he wants, and Crawley continues to suffer the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would think that I would take mercy on Crawley after a certain point. Unfortunately, he won’t be receiving any mercy quite yet.

Lucifer shifted his feet, finding the most comfortable stance. Noticing that the ledge was at exactly the perfect height for his pelvis to meet the demon currently freaking out with realization had been a brilliant moment of inspiration. All he’d needed to do was place Crawley at the edge and spread his legs wide. It left the smaller demon perfectly open with minimum work involved for Lucifer.

There was no urgency this time. The burning lust in his lower belly wasn’t as demanding yet. And with the damage that he’d already done to Crawley’s insides, he shouldn’t have to fight for every shred of progress. He’d torn his way in once. The second time should be easier.

He pushed his half-hard length in. Slowly. **Very** slowly. While looser than before, it still felt tight as the inner walls pressed down on him. Lucifer moaned at the sensation as Crawley whimpered at the intrusion, constant and unyielding as it went deeper. The slow progression produced a constant squelching noise. There was a constant stream of blood trying to escape from the ruined remains of Crawley’s cervix and the womb beyond. And Lucifer knew when he reached that point because the pressure became even tighter, Crawley’s whimpers transformed into actual sobs, and the demon’s trapped wings flinched sharply under his hands.

He kept pushing forward, his approaching hips pushing Crawley’s legs further apart until they were nearly perpendicular to the demon’s body. They shook, something threatening to break. He kept going. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it almost felt like he could reach deeper with Crawley’s new position. Lucifer only stopped when his tip was stretching the organ out, his entire length was buried into Crawley, and their corporation were completely flush with each other.

Then, with a groan of satisfaction, he stayed there. Listening to the pained sounds. Hardening further as the broken and terrified sobs made his arousal slowly climb. And when the suspense of waiting reduced Crawley to quick, shallow, and panicking gasps, Lucifer started sliding out with identical slowness.

That’s what he couldn’t have the first time. The slow, firm, and wonderful friction along his entire length, letting the penile spines draw things out. He’d had to fight for every shred of progress in and then the knot kept him from moving afterwards. While he’d experienced plenty of pleasure regardless, nothing would keep him from enjoying that delightful friction this time.

Until something got caught, halting his progress. Frowning Lucifer pulled a little harder. There was a feeling of tearing and Crawley yelped. And despite not wanting to, Lucifer pulled out completely.

He looked down for answers. His length was coated in blood and other fluids, throbbing with need and half-raised. And torn pieces of flesh were caught on his penile spines. Ragged pieces of the shredded cervix that were loose enough to catch.

Well, if he hadn’t already torn that passage through it, there would certainly be enough room for him now.

Lucifer let go of Crawley’s left wing long enough to pluck the thin scraps off him. The freed wing spasmed and flapped desperately, but it seemed more instinctive than intentional. Crawley didn’t try to actually escape or break free.

A wise decision.

When he was satisfied that enough of the pieces were gone, Lucifer grabbed the wing and forced it back down. He pinned the limb against the stone again. Then, lining himself up once more, Lucifer grinned.

His hips slammed forward, driving himself all the way into Crawley with a single motion hard enough to push the demon’s body forward as well. A hoarse and ragged scream followed as Lucifer maintained that pressure. And with Lucifer holding his wings in place, the way that he pushed his body made Crawley’s wings strain tightly. Almost forcing them out of their sockets. He held that tense position for a moment longer before slowly drawing back.

That pattern seemed to be the most satisfying. A sharp sudden thrust that strained every part of Crawley’s body before slowly pulling out, letting his penile spines drag along the inner walls. Alternating between speed and patience. _And since he’d already figured out that Crawley’s wounded essence couldn’t contain Lucifer’s full strength with splitting apart, he decided to experiment with a similar technique. Forcing his essence in and out of the smaller demon’s core, talons tightening and relaxing on the serpentine rings until ichor flowed freely._ Every part of Lucifer was experiencing growing waves of pleasure. And the growing heat coaxed him into gradually picking up the pace.

Lucifer leaned over, driving himself in deeply again. The screams had trailed off for the moment into weak and broken sobs, exhaustion and pain taking their toll. He would have to shift things a little if he wanted those screams back. He thought about Michael reduced to that state as Lucifer took a deep breath and—

No.

No, no, **no**.

He stopped moving, leaning down further to breathe in the scent. Lucifer knew what should be there. He could smell blood, sweat, his own aroused state, the results of their previous activities, sulfur… but not the bright and holy scent. Not the traces of divinity. Not the angel.

And without that scent, Lucifer couldn’t pretend. Without that scent, there was no resemblance to Michael. All that he was left with was the shaking and sobbing demon who **wasn’t** what Lucifer wanted. His arousal began dying down in the face of that reality.

Which infuriated him.

Clawed fingers wrapped around the edge of the wings, tightening on the muscles and underlying ulna and radius hidden beneath the feathers until the pressure threatened to snap the bones. The strain and the crushed feathers made Crawley yelp. And as much as Lucifer tried, he couldn’t pretend the sound came from Michael. Lucifer snarled in frustration as he straightened back up. He wasn’t done, but he could feel himself growing soft inside the smaller demon regardless.

“No,” he snarled pressing his eyes shut briefly and thinking about the warrior angel as intensely as possible, Lucifer hissed, “ **Michael.** ”

Fast, ruthless, and powerful, Lucifer drove his hips forward. Short and sharp movements, he thrust in and out at an aggressive pace. Trying to combat the fading arousal with the friction and tight pressure. Trying to keep the flames burning with the brutal jolts through the blood-slick opening. Lucifer wanted to chase that heat and overwhelming pleasure from before. He wasn’t giving up yet.

He kept moving, rough and aggressive. Lucifer used his grip on Crawley’s wings to pull and push with every violent thrust. Hard enough that the wings were threatening to dislocate with every yank. Lucifer ignored the dislodged and broken feathers in his hands as he tried to recapture the previous fire.

Crawley sobbed and yelped with every thrust and pull of his wings _. Pain flashed through the core of his being like waves, mixed with the absolute terror and hopelessness. They filled Lucifer’s senses._ And that should have been enough. It should have made Lucifer hard. But even with the rough friction against Crawley’s battered and torn inner walls, he could barely keep any amount of arousal.

And that made him more and more frustrated.

Snarling, Lucifer released Crawley’s wings. He bent over, his left arm snaking under the smaller demon while supporting himself with his right. He pressed Crawley’s back tight against his stomach, still leaning over. His wings spasmed and flinched with every assault on his torn entrance, but couldn’t actually reach Lucifer. And even with the slight change in position, Lucifer’s violent thrusts never paused. If anything, he went faster.

But it wasn’t enough. His corporation refused to react the way he wanted. It was taking all of his effort to stay even slightly hard. And his frustration was mounting.

Claws tightened, digging into Crawley’s chest. He refused to give up. He wanted that supernova sensation again. And he wanted to cause agony of every level.

But Crawley wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Michael, crying brokenly and gasping with pain. Lucifer wanted it to be her blood splattering against him with every thrust and for her shredded inner walls to squeeze along his entire length. He wanted her suffering. And Lucifer couldn’t pretend that Crawley was her. Not anymore.

With another shout of frustration and rage, Lucifer gave one final powerful thrust forward. He felt something roughly give way. The legs trapped on either side of his hips suddenly lost all their tension against him as felt something between a pop and a crack. Two of them. Crawley howled in agony, a new source of pain to join the rest. Whether he’d managed to dislocate them from the shattered pelvis or broke the hips themselves, Crawley’s legs were now useless. But Lucifer didn’t care. All that mattered was the frustrated and feeling of unfulfillment twisting in his gut.

He stayed buried deep inside the smaller demon, panting heavily. Lucifer knew that it was pointless to continue. He’d gone limp and soft. Without his penile spines, Lucifer would have likely slipped out already. His arousal had dulled to almost nothing and he hated it.

Lucifer released his grip, pulling his claws out of the demon’s flesh and sliding his arm out from under the trembling Crawley. He straightened back up and glared down at the broken figure. After a moment, Lucifer noticed that he was whimpering something while his face rested on the stone.

“…‘m not… ‘m not… Mi… chael…”

The rough and ragged voice only made his frustration and rage worse. Crawley **not** being Michael was the entire problem. Claws buried into his long curls and wrenched Crawley’s head back sharply. The smaller demon gasped at having his hair yanked, but at least he’d stopped talking. And with his other hand, Lucifer pushed down hard on the broken pelvis to make Crawley yelp in further pain.

It was useless though. He knew that it was pointless to continue. Lucifer should give up and leave the smaller demon sprawled on the stone ledge, broken and bleeding until he discorporated. Or he should finish tearing apart his wounded essence so that no one would ever learn of his frustrated failure. Such a story would not reflect well on the King of Hell.

But as he raised his gaze from the smaller demon, something caught his eye. Something dark crumpled next to them. After a moment, Lucifer recognized the discarded robe that he’d torn from Crawley. And with that realization came an idea.

He reached over and grabbed the scraps of fabric. Then, pressing his face into the ruined robe, Lucifer breathed in deeply. And he found what he was looking for.

The angel’s scent.

It might have faded from Crawley, but his clothes still held traces of the scent. Lucifer closed his eyes and inhaled again. The bright and holy scent of an angel filled him and he thought about Heaven’s greatest warrior. He thought about Michael as he pulled his claws out of Crawley’s hair, letting his head drop back down.

Michael wouldn’t have long hair, after all.

He kept breathing in the scent, letting the fire in him reignite. Lucifer felt the inferno returning with a vengeance. And when he felt the throbbing ache building, he knew that it was time. This had lasted long enough already.

No drawing it out. No slow build up. Just pure pleasure as quickly as possible before the scent faded from the robe and he lost the returning hardness.

Taking one final deep breath before dropping the torn robe next to them, Lucifer grabbed Crawley’s shattered pelvis hard enough to make him shriek in shock and pain. Then he returned to his previous brutal pace. Sharp and fast movements, shoving himself in and out along his thickening length. He became fully hard in almost no time from the lingering scent in his nose, the renewed cries of pain, and the physical stimulation.

When the violent and deep thrusts became more difficult, an increased resistance hindering his motions, Lucifer realized that the bulbus glandis was starting to swell again. The forming knot tried to catch with every motion. It made it harder to force his way in and out, slightly tearing the entrance a little wider each time. But Lucifer didn’t slow. He needed to make the most of the full-length thrusts while he could still manage them.

Until he suddenly couldn’t slide back in. The knot was too large. Lucifer managed a couple of partial thrusts before he planted his feet more firmly, tightened his grip on Crawley’s hips, and **slammed** all the way back in. Crawley shrieked as the knot tore its way inside once more. Then Lucifer switched to short and shallow jerks, ensuring that the knot could finish forming in the proper place.

His hips twitched rapidly in an aggressive pace while he kept pulling at Crawley with his bruising grip, rocking into him sharply. Lucifer chased after the building heat. Crawley’s sobs of pain grew louder as the knot continued to grow. Stretching the smaller demon out in ways that his body wasn’t meant to endure. It wouldn’t be long now until Lucifer reached that waiting peak again.

Only that didn’t turn out to be true. The inferno kept building and climbing higher. He kept going, but Lucifer never managed to tip over the edge. Even inhaling the angel’s scent from the robe again wasn’t the catalyst that he needed. He needed something more. Otherwise he would simply continue rocking into Crawley with no end in sight. An endless burning hunger for release.

Growing desperate for the bright and powerful sensation waiting for him, Lucifer strengthened his aggressive movements. Strong and rough, he refused to let up. And running out of options, _Lucifer decided to risk it and forced his entire essence back into Crawley’s core in one violent push._

The explosive and intense supernova of sensation hit hard, washing over him in bright waves. Once more his vision went white as his muscles strained. He roared in relief and exhilaration. **Finally**. That glorious release. Hot pulses that shuddered through him. With his wings outstretched and his head tilted back, Lucifer continued to rock into Crawley as pleasure flooded him.

As the bright supernova began to fade, _Lucifer reluctantly extracted his essence from the smaller demon before the damage could get much worse. He left behind only the smallest portion of himself_ as he rode out the remaining waves of ecstasy.

And once the intense sensations gave way to the warm and almost lazy feeling from before, Lucifer released his grip on Crawley’s pelvis. His hands settled on the ledge as he sighed heavily. He wouldn’t be moving for a while. Not until the knot shrank back down. Until then, he would simply bask in the comfortable aftermath.

That plan only lasted a few moments before they were interrupted by a knocking on the thick iron door.

Scowling, Lucifer looked over his shoulder. No one would dare interrupt him in his personal chambers. Not without good reason. The kind of reason that he couldn’t afford to ignore.

His hand reached down, curling under to squeeze Crawley’s throat. A wordless threat. Remain silent or suffer. Crawley tried to muffle his pained sobs, which Lucifer accepted as agreement.

Lucifer’s head twitched and the door opened a crack. He watched over his shoulder as Beelzebub stepped in. A reliable and efficient demon. And a loyal one. He’d given them a title and authority because of those traits. He didn’t trust any of his demons, but he could depend on Beelzebub and their judgment.

“Speak,” he ordered.

“Several of the higher ranked demonzzz are causing trouble.”[9]

Gritting his teeth, Lucifer said, “Fine. Do what you can. I’ll be there in a moment to **deal** with them.”

And those demons would regret ever existing. They were interrupting the pleasant warmth of the aftermath and Lucifer intended to take out his annoyance on them.

“As you command, Lord Satan,” they said.

Beelzebub did not question why Lucifer was standing at the far side of the chamber. Disrobed, his wings outstretched, and refusing to turn and face them. They didn’t ask and they didn’t comment. They ignored what was clearly none of their business. There were reasons why he’d chosen Beelzebub to serve as a Prince of Hell.

Once Beelzebub left and another flicker of power sealed the door again, Lucifer turned his attention back to the current problem. He was still attached to Crawley. And until the knot shrank back down, he would remain buried deeply in the smaller demon. That would take time that he could not afford.

The only solution would not be pleasant.

_First, Lucifer yanked his essence completely out of Crawley’s core. The sudden absence left the weaker demon struggling briefly, trying to stabilize his wounded essence before he collapsed in on himself. But after a moment, he settled enough that Lucifer didn’t expect him to die._

He grabbed the red curls and twisted them around his hand. Then he wrenched Crawley up and off the ledge. Lucifer hissed in pain as he abruptly held up the smaller demon’s entire weight solely on his full length. Crawley, on the other hand, screamed. His entire physical body was being supported on his bleeding, stretched out, and torn inner walls. It tried to drive the knot deeper despite the impossibility of it. His wings and arms flailed, trying to get some leverage to reduce the pressure. In contrast, his legs dangled limply. Useless. Lucifer’s discomfort was an acceptable price for Crawley’s agony.

“Remember this,” snarled Lucider when Crawley’s screams stopped briefly for him to draw breath. “Demons aren’t **nice**. And the next time that you see that angel, I want you to discorporate it.” Twisting the hair tighter, wrenching Crawley’s head back further without supporting any of the weight, he growled, “Or better yet, destroy the angel. Understand?”

Whimpering, Crawley kept trying to get a grip on Lucifer’s arm. Trying to pull himself up and reduce the weight driving Lucifer’s length into his raw and bleeding insides. But the angles were wrong. He couldn’t bend the right way to grab anything.

Giving a violent shake that caused another yelp of pain, Lucifer said, “I **can’t** hear you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he keened weakly, his voice ragged, hoarse, and desperate.

Lucifer yanked his hand free, letting Crawly fall back on the ledge in front of him. He lay there, gasping and panting. Too tired and hurt to do anything except tremble weakly. His wings flinched slightly when Lucifer rested his right hand on Crawley’s lower back. But he showed no other sign of life.

With his left hand, Lucifer reached between them. Tracing along where the taut, strained, and bleeding entrance met his buried length. He traced all the way down until he reached a spot near the front, underneath the shivering demon. If he pressed hard, he could feel where the knot lay within. Lucifer barely managed to slide one claw in between them.

He gritted his teeth. This wasn’t going to be pleasant. But he didn’t have time to wait on the knot to shrink down.

Lucifer jerked his claw down, slicing through flesh to tear the entrance wider. Then, as Crawley screamed brokenly, Lucifer grasped himself and pulled hard.

He howled in agony as he forced the swollen bulbus glandis through an opening that was still too small. He felt too tight to pass through. Something was bound to rip apart. But Lucifer didn’t let up the pressure. And, the torn flesh splitting even further, eventually the knot slid out. It almost felt like an abrupt pop as he was suddenly past the bulbus glandis. The rest of his length followed easily through the ragged opening and Crawley’s animalistic screams slowly settled back into exhausted sobs.

Smeared in blood, swollen, and sore, Lucifer took a step away from the ledge. He reclaimed his discarded robe and cinched it loosely around his waist, hiding away the knot. It would go down in time, but not yet. A small miracle left him clean with no sign of what he’d been doing. He needed to make a strong impression when he disciplined the troublesome demons.

Then he remembered Crawley.

Shaking with pain, he was sprawled limply as he dangled halfway over the edge. He bled heavily from the torn and ruined entrance and from everything internal that had been shredded. The entire area of his body was unrecognizable. The blood and his red hair stood out brightly against his ash-pale complexion.

Lucifer reached over and grabbed the first convenient limb. Which turned out to be Crawley’s wing. He yanked the smaller demon off the ledge and flung him roughly to the ground. The act only produced the smallest cry of pain. He didn’t have the strength left to do anything more.

“If you are still here by the time I return,” said Lucifer coolly, “you will regret it. And I will ensure that there will be no interruptions next time.”

A bluff. Lucifer knew that the angelic scent would fade completely by the time that he made it back to the chamber. And without the bright divine scent, he couldn’t pretend it was Michael. There would be no point. He would have no interest in continuing on any level, physical or metaphysical. But he didn’t mind sending that spike of fear through Crawley as a parting gift.

Lucifer was stepping out the door when he yanked his power from Crawley. Nothing left to keep him conscious or from discorporating. Whatever happened to Crawley next, whether he survived to slither out or not, depended solely on the demon.

* * *

9 Which meant that they were on the verge of rebelling against him. They’d tried it a few times since the Fall, not everyone accepting his leadership after that. A handful solely blamed him for what happened. And while demons were encouraged to rebel in general, rebelling against Lucifer and his rule specifically was not tolerated. Such things tended to be dealt with swiftly and brutally. [ ↑ ]


	4. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crawley tries to recover from the ordeal, times passes, and an angel disguised as a demon proves to be very good at bluffing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that Lucifer’s “fun” is over, it is time to deal with the aftermath. Because what it left behind isn’t pretty. At all…

**Pain**. Unbearable pain.

Pain that _wracked his true form_. His physical body. His—

Don’t think about it.

Crawley lay sprawled on his back, his vision shifting between bright white of absolute agony and going dark from the gaping chasm of unconsciousness. But he couldn’t pass out. He knew that he needed to stay awake. Crawley needed to remain conscious or he would bleed out.

There had been a very clear lecture about corporeal bodies.[10] And one of the main warnings was about the amount of damage they could endure before complete failure. A corporation needed to be repaired when they were damaged enough to bleed. Otherwise blood loss could lead to unconsciousness. And once unconscious, there would be no chance of healing the body before discorporation. The lecture made it very clear the sequence of events: severe blood loss, unconsciousness, and then discorporation. Crawley needed to stay awake long enough to heal his body.

He couldn’t risk discorporation. The lecture also mentioned that while not normally dangerous, discorporation tended to be a sudden shock that hit their entire true form. Unpleasant, but not harmful if their true forms were in good condition. _But his wounded, strained, and aching essence wouldn’t be able to handle that type of shock. Not without coming apart completely._ Discorporation could easily destroy him the rest of the way.

He needed to heal his physical body. Before he passed out from pain and blood loss. Before it ended up destroying him.

Crawley tried to escape the pull of unconsciousness. To mentally claw his way back out of the encroaching darkness. He forced himself to focus. Unfortunately, that only made him more aware of the pain on multiple planes.

_The fear and traumatic knowledge from Lucifer forcing their essences to mix was almost as bad as the pain and damage itself. It was wrong in a fundamental way. Everything about it was horrible, invasive, and agonizing. He’d sensed the devil’s hatred, cruel pleasure, and vicious desires the entire time that he clawed his way into Crawley’s core. And even being freed from that invasion left its marks. His essence was nearly shredded, stretched out beyond his limits until he could barely keep together. The rest of his true form was covered in deep scratches. Bleeding ichor from Lucifer’s fangs and claws. Those wounds would only heal with time. Assuming that nothing worsened them._

Then there was his corporation. Everything ached, throbbing sharply with his fast and shallow heartbeat. From the sting of his scalp from where Lucifer yanked his hair, the rawness of his throat from screaming, the scrapes along his back and stomach from the rough stone, the sharp pangs in his wings from being pulled, and further down as the agony intensified until it reached—

 **No**. Don’t think about it.

Crawley didn’t want to think about it. The mangled damage that used to be his lower section of his body nor how it happened. He didn’t want to remember any of it.

He didn’t even understand what exactly Lucifer did to him. Mixing their essences together was something that Crawley vaguely knew about. Though he never considered the possibility of it happening forcibly. The idea was just sickening and unbelievable. But what Lucifer did with their corporeal bodies was something strange, new, agonizing, and horrible.[11] And Crawley didn’t want to think about it.

Because thinking about it made his breathing hitch and his exhausted body shake. Which didn’t help. He needed to focus.

When he landed roughly on the ground, wings bent uncomfortably under him, Crawley’s hand had ended up on his chest. He could feel his rapid and shallow heartbeat under his palm. Then, swallowing hard and trying to brace himself, he started sliding his hand down.

The first thing he encountered was some of the scrapes and scratches across his lower chest and stomach. The result of being shoved back and forth across the stone surface as Lucifer thrusted into him. An ideal first attempt. Crawley summoned the tiniest amount of power for the faintest healing miracle.

And immediately clenched his teeth to bite back a scream. _His true form spasmed in sharp agony. Like a lightning bolt through him._ He needed to breathe shakily through his nose for several moments until it settled back into his previous level of pain.

Which didn’t help much, but he could bear it.

Healing wasn’t going to be easy. His ability to use miracles drew upon the strength of his core. And the act of using his powers put further strain on his wounded essence. Trying to heal his corporation ran the risk of making the damage to his true self worse.

He would have to prioritize. Heal the worst damage only. Enough to avoid discorporation and that’s all.

But it would still hurt.

Taking a careful breath as his hand moved lower and gathering up as much strength as he could risk, Crawley sent a wave of healing deep into his painful body. He keened between clenched teeth _as his true form shuddered and spasmed as the effort felt like it was tearing him apart further and like he was pouring liquid fire into his core_ , focusing on carefully knitting together the shredded organs. Making slow progress, trying not to strain himself. His hand continued to slide down as he coaxed the internal damage to heal enough to stop bleeding and for the worst of the wounds to close. And when he reached the gaping, ragged, and ruined hole that Lucifer left behind, getting smeared with blood and unknown liquids as even the feather-light contact felt like sharp-edged blades, Crawley could barely breathe. Agony swallowed him up on a physical _and metaphysical level_. He could feel the torn and stretched out edges drawing back together under his hand. And when he didn’t think that he could bear it any longer, Crawley released the healing miracle and slumped weakly while gasping.

He lay there for several moments, _letting the pain wracking his essence die back down to something more bearable_. Crawley could only stare up at the distant ceiling, the burning pits making the shadows dance. He wasn’t bleeding any longer. The destroyed internal organs were intact. They weren’t fully healed; everything ached from the deep bruising that he didn’t have the strength to try healing. But he shouldn’t discorporate now. He wouldn’t bleed out. That meant that he could focus on the next challenge.

Getting out of Lucifer’s personal chambers.

Crawley remembered his parting words. The threat of what would happen if he was still there when Lucifer returned. And maybe his physical body could survive another round of that vicious assault, shredding apart everything that he’d just managed to heal, _but his essence was barely holding together._ He would shatter and die. Crawley absolutely couldn’t be there when Lucifer returned.

Unfortunately, everything still hurt and his legs refused to respond. Bones were broken and he wasn’t going to be walking out until he healed them.

He took several deep breaths as he tried to brace himself. Then, clenching his teeth again, Crawley sent another pulse of power into his throbbing and aching pelvis. And he barely managed to smother the scream ripped from his raw and burning threat, _the straining further tearing at his core._

 _Past the white-hot pain ripping at his essence, too much power for him to be using in that state_ , Crawley could feel bone fragments shifting. Trying to reattach together and reform an actual pelvis. And to settle his legs back into their sockets. It was overwhelmingly slow and impossibly painful.

Crawley’s vision went bright white with agony. He kept going, but his entire world narrowed down to pain, pain, **pain** —

…Crawley returned to awareness, sore and shivering. He didn’t expect to pass out. But far more concerning was that he didn’t know how long he was unconscious. And that meant that he had no idea how much time he might have left. Lucifer could be back any moment.

This time, his legs responded when he tried to move. Everything ached and hurt. Deep bruises that enveloped his entire pelvic area. Down to the barely healed organs and bones. Movement hurt, but Crawley managed to climb to his feet by using the stone wall for support. The effort left him shaking and brought tears to his eyes, but he was standing.

And now that he wasn’t half crushing them under his body, Crawley realized that his left wing felt badly wrenched. Either from when Lucifer yanked him off the ledge to toss him to the floor or when he was pulling on both of Crawley’s wings, using them as he drove himself deep and—

Crawley’s thought skittered away from thinking about the painful, confusing, and terrifying experience too closely. Regardless, his wing didn’t move easily as he forced it to fold close to his body, even that much movement sending spikes of pain through the demon. Healing his wing would have to wait.

He reached up and managed to snag the edge of his torn robe. Then Crawley gingerly tugged it around his battered body, using another painful small miracle to get the fabric around his arms and past his wings. As long as he wrapped it around himself tightly, it wasn’t immediately obvious that the cloth had been torn open.

Crawley knew what he needed to do. It was a straightforward plan. Get out of Lucifer’s personal chamber. Get through the crowded passages of Hell without anyone noticing how hurt and exhausted he felt. Climb back up to Earth and find somewhere safe. Somewhere safe to rest and heal.

And then never return to Hell while carrying an angel’s scent. Because Crawley wasn’t stupid. He’d heard what name that Lucifer called and he’d noticed how Lucifer breathed in the scent. Lucifer was thinking about Archangel Michael when he forcibly mixed their essences together and attacked Crawley’s physical body in that strange way. Crawley didn’t matter; the holy angelic scent was what was important.

He needed to leave before Lucifer returned. But that would involve walking. An intimidating proposition. Maybe bone pieces were no longer grinding against each other and blood was no longer pouring down his legs, but everything ached and the memories of complete and utter agony remained fresh in his mind. He needed to gather his courage before he could try.

It only took a few steps for Crawley notice that something was different. His gait was off. There was more of a sway to it, his weight shifting from side to side with each cautious step. Maybe he didn’t heal his hips and pelvis right. Or maybe he was subconsciously expecting far worse pain than the dull throbbing. Regardless, his walk had turned into more of a saunter.

Well, at least it wasn’t agonizing. And it would be relatively easy to make the gait look confident rather than the aftermath of Lucifer repeatedly skewering him. Confidence would keep the other demons from sensing weakness. And with his denial shattered and seeing things clearly now, Crawley knew that appearing weak in front of his increasing aggressive fellow demons would be dangerous.

Wings held tight against his body, torn robe wrapped carefully around him, and trying not to tremble from pain and exhaustion, Crawley forced his expression into one of cool indifference as he sauntered out of the chamber.

* * *

His true form took time to heal. Unlike physical wounds, they could not be hurried along. No miracles. Only time. Time that he spent hiding on Earth. A pool of cool water to clean away the mess and numb the aching pain, a warm stone in the sun to sooth and comfort, and a long nap to heal and forget.

But not truly forget. Crawley remembered what happened. He certainly remembered well enough that it took a thousand years before he would risk approaching the angel again. Crawley watched from afar and gathered information by questioning the humans, such as learning that his name was Aziraphale, but he didn’t go near him for a millennium.

And yet he couldn’t bear to stay away forever.

Time passed. The traumatic experience lost the sharper edges as he buried it under centuries of newer memories. His naivety faded as he questioned and discovered. He learned more about the concept of sex and how some humans would twist it into a weapon the same way that Lucifer did. His name gradually shifted from Crawley to Crowley to Anthony J. Crowley. And he continued to grow closer to the kind angel, his feelings growing and changing just as gradually.

Aziraphale was brilliant, in every meaning of the word. He was bright and shining, especially in his true form. He was clever and smart. And he was amazing. Crowley enjoyed spending time with him. Talking, teasing, coaxing him out to eat or share a drink, convincing him to work together, doing favors, protecting him. It didn’t take Crowley too long to decide that being around Aziraphale was worth the risks. Even when his actions or words stung, Crowley knew that it was out of obliviousness, fear, and frustration. It was never meant maliciously nor did he intend to truly cause pain. The angel wasn’t perfect, but the imperfections were what made him real and even more precious.

Crowley didn’t know when exactly his feelings became something resembling love. It snuck up on him slowly and quietly. The subtlest transformation. Crowley just realized one day that Aziraphale was the most important person in the world to him, that he couldn’t imagine existence without the angel, and that he wanted Aziraphale in every way that the angel might offer. Even in ways that stirred up certain reactions in his corporation. And unpleasant memories that Crowley didn’t want to examine too closely.

Crowley knew about sex by that point. Most of humanity was overly obsessed with the concept and it would take hard work to remain ignorant while remaining in close proximity of the species for nearly six thousand years. He knew that in most cases, sex was meant to be enjoyable and agreed upon by all involved. It wasn’t supposed to be a thing of pain, fear, and violence. Crowley knew that Aziraphale had indulged in it with various humans through the ages, embracing it the same way that he did all of his hedonist tendencies. And Crowley knew that part of him wanted to have that with Aziraphale.

But despite what he wanted and despite all rational thought, Crowley couldn’t forget. He couldn’t bury the gut reaction. The horrible and sickening fear of experiencing that type of agony again, physically or metaphysically. Or worse, accidentally causing that kind of pain.

He didn’t experiment with sex the way that Aziraphale did. Crowley told himself that he didn’t have any interest in humans and the one person that he **was** interested had trouble admitting that they might be friends. Aziraphale wouldn’t want anything more. Too much too fast. Crowley told himself that he was being practical.

But that didn’t explain why, when he imagined an impossible distant day where Aziraphale offered more affection than he ever would, Crowley could never move beyond imagining holding the angel close as he kissed him. When the fantasies tried to turn towards more intimate things, they became twisted and wrong. His imagination would betray him, turning the figure above him in those scenarios into someone larger and more terrifying than the angel. It was easier to pretend that he wasn’t interested in what he couldn’t have.

Crowley found happiness in other ways. Taking Aziraphale out for a drive, out for dinner, out to the theater. Watching him taste delicious treats, wriggling with delight. Listening to him talk about his books and telling Aziraphale about his projects in return. Drinking together as they discussed a variety of topics. And finding new ways to make the angel’s eyes crinkle with glee and earn that open and honest smile.

Of course, every time that he spent time with Aziraphale, he had to go home and immediately banish any trace of the angel’s scent. He knew what Aziraphale smelled like; he knew that scent better than his own. But that was because he had to make sure that he completely removed or covered it up in case he was abruptly summoned back to Hell. Throughout history, Crowley would depend on harsh soaps, perfumes, colognes, or even smoke and sulfur in order to hide the traces. He couldn’t risk carrying Aziraphale’s scent down to Hell again.

He couldn’t have everything, but Crowley treasured whatever Aziraphale was willing to share and he was worth the extra effort on the demon’s part.

Then that wonderful existence that he’d established, the perfect balance between his work for Hell and his desire to be with Aziraphale, was suddenly threatened. Everything went wrong. The Anti-Christ was born, Armageddon started rolling, and their time together was coming to an end. The world and everything that Crowley loved about it would soon be gone. And more importantly, either he would be destroyed in the War or Aziraphale would be. He would lose his angel.

And that threat was enough to inspire Crowley to find a way around the problem. A way to disrupt the Anti-Christ’s upbringing to prevent the Apocalypse. Which immediately derailed and led to a mad scramble towards the end.

A mad scramble in which Aziraphale refused to let Crowley protect him, finally lashing out at the demon with the intention to truly hurt him. A mad scramble where Crowley was nearly dragged back to Hell for punishment. A mad scramble where he collapsed in a burning building, certain that he’d lost the only thing that mattered. A mad scramble that ended with them standing together with the Anti-Christ on an airfield, facing down the person that terrified Crowley the most.

It led to Aziraphale and Crowley being blamed by their old sides, but the humanity saved the world from destruction. They accomplished their goal. And when it was over, the two of them were sitting on a bench for a bus stop. Coated in ash and soot, knowing that their futures held only the most permanent form of death, and with a singed prophecy as the only scrap of hope.

And Aziraphale, the brilliant angel, figured out how to make use of that prophecy. He figured out how to save them both.

And everything about the plan terrified Crowley.

* * *

“You **can’t** go to Hell, Aziraphale,” he said desperately, trying not to give into the urge to panic. “You don’t know what you’re suggesting.”

He gripped Crowley’s shoulders firmly. Aziraphale’s hands squeezed through the clean fabric. The soot and smoky was already washed away by the shower Crowley took while the angel contemplated Agnes Nutter’s final message, his hair still damp. There was no evidence left of his desperate drive, let alone the more agonizing search through the burning bookshop. Crowley could pretend that everything was fine. He could pretend that he didn’t spend hours in a horrifying reality where his angel was gone forever. He could pretend that the last several days, last several **years** , never happened.

At least he could if Aziraphale would stop saying terrifying things like he needed to go to Hell in Crowley’s place.

“It’s the only way,” said Aziraphale gently. “It is what Agnes was trying to tell us. We go disguised as each other. I face the holy water and you face the hellfire. That way, neither of us will be harmed. They won’t know how to handle it.”

“There has to be another way. It’s too dangerous.”

“More dangerous than letting Heaven and Hell drag us off to the correct executions?” He shook his head slowly. “I’ll be fine, Crowley. I know you better than anyone. They won’t be able to tell the difference. You just have to play your part with Gabriel and the others.”

Crowley knew that if Aziraphale claimed that he’d interpreted the prophecy and that this was their only chance of surviving, then he was probably right. It was safer to switch. And the angel was too smart and brilliant to be wrong about what the prophecy meant. The only way to keep Aziraphale safe from Heaven and those cold and ruthless angels was to go in his place. Crowley had to face the hellfire so that Aziraphale wouldn’t be destroyed.

But it did nothing to help the painful tightness in his chest at the idea of Aziraphale setting foot in Hell instead. He couldn’t stand the idea. He knew what would happen if the angel caught Lucifer’s attention. And since he would be the center of attention for the execution, there was no way to avoid that.

Even disguised as Crowley, he wouldn’t be safe. Not if he went into Hell, carrying the bright, warm, and holy scent of an angel. Crowley couldn’t let him go. He knew what would happen. And a quick execution would be a kindness. Lucifer would kill him, but it would only be after a lot of pain and suffering.

But it was the only way to save Aziraphale. According to Agnes Nutter’s prophecy and the angel’s interpretation, it was the only way to keep him safe. Choose their faces wisely.

Aziraphale was right. It was a risk that they would need to take. Because he couldn’t bear to lose the angel again.

Crowley stared at Aziraphale. He tried not to think about the pain when he believed his best friend was gone. He didn’t want to remember that hopelessness and sorrow. He just wanted to remind himself that Aziraphale was alive and whole.

To be honest, the urge to reassure himself that the angel survived the bookshop’s destruction was overwhelming. He wanted to do more than just stare at Aziraphale and soak in his presence. Crowley wanted to hold him close, running his hands over the angel’s newly restored physical body and curling his true form protectively around Aziraphale’s. He wanted to seize the moment and finally kiss the angel until they were both breathless despite not needing to breathe. He wanted to share everything with Aziraphale before they were both destroyed. He wanted to show the angel how much he loved him. It might be their last night on Earth and part of Crowley wished that he could ask for what his corporation wanted.

But he couldn’t. He knew that Aziraphale didn’t want him like that. He didn’t feel the same. And that was fine. As long as Aziraphale survived the upcoming executions, as long as Crowley could still bask in the angel’s presence, that would be enough.

“If you really want to do this,” said Crowley shakily, “we need to make sure that you seem more like a demon.”

He pulled out his wings and carefully mantled them around Aziraphale. Shielding him from the world. Sheltering the angel the same way that he once protected the demon from the rain so very long ago. The position made it easy for Crowley to breathe in the familiar scent.

“I know what you smell like,” he whispered. “They’ll expect us to smell a little like each other. But the less you smell like an angel, the safer you’ll be.”

Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and pulled him close. _His true form twisted and coiled around itself, fighting the urge to wrap around the angel._ It wasn’t quite the embrace that he ached for, but it was warm and comforting. And hopefully Crowley could hide the divine scent with his own.

“I need you to promise something, Aziraphale,” he whispered, trying not to shake as he held the angel. “If Satan is there for the executions… If he’s in the room and especially if he tries to get close to you, you have to get out of there. No matter what it takes, you have to escape if Satan’s there. I don’t care how. Fight your way out. Smite everyone in your path. Use the element of surprise. Or sell me out. Tell them the truth and let them have the real me instead of you. Abandon me if necessary and escape to Alpha Centauri. Whatever happens, don’t stay if Satan is there.”

It would be a dangerous risk if Aziraphale revealed his true nature. If he couldn’t fight his way out and escape, he would be in a deadly situation. An angel in Hell, filled with demons disappointed by the canceled War? An angel that Lucifer could claim with no complaint from Heaven? That could be worse than letting them think that it was Crowley. But on the other hand, the need to make an example of a traitor should win out enough for Hell to trade Aziraphale back to Heaven. His angel could still die, but at least it would be a faster death with less suffering.

“Crowley, I can’t—”

“Promise me,” he said, wings tightening around the angel. “Maybe he will be too busy sulking about what Adam did. It might be fine. But if you don’t promise to do everything possible to stay away from Satan, I won’t go along with the plan. I’ll march myself down to Hell right this second.”

He would. He would walk straight into Lucifer’s personal chamber again, wrapped in Aziraphale’s scent. He would climb on the ledge himself and expose the deepest part of his true form. Crowley would let a furious and frustrated Lucifer take out all his hatred and lust on him before he would let the devil lay a hand on Aziraphale.

He was shaking now. Crowley couldn’t help it. He knew what would happen if things went wrong in Hell. Crowley knew what would happen to his angel. He kept picturing the devil dragging Aziraphale to his personal chamber, spreading his legs wide, reaching for the angel’s core with his essence, and—

 **No** , he couldn’t let that happen. They were limited on what they could do though. He needed to do more to protect the angel. He was supposed to keep Aziraphale safe. But there were no good options. No matter what they tried, there was a risk that he would never see Aziraphale again. And Crowley hated that. All that he could do was hide the angel’s scent as much as possible and hope that a centuries-dead witch would have the sense to warn them about any other dangers.

Wrapping his arms around the demon and settling his head on Crowley’s shoulders, Aziraphale said, “All right then. I promise that I’ll find a way out if Satan is there. But I need you to be careful too. If I have to escape, it won’t take long before someone realizes that you aren’t me. You have to be ready to get away as well.” He felt the angel take a calming breath. “But it won’t come to that. We’ll go in each other’s place and then we’ll meet up in the park afterwards.”

Crowley nodded as he breathed in the angel’s scent. No fire or smoke from the bookshop. No blood. Aziraphale was fine. They would get through this. They would survive and everything would be fine. He had to believe that. He would need that hope when he marched into Heaven wearing Aziraphale’s features. Protecting the angel’s from Heaven’s wrath while hoping that he’d done enough to protect him from Hell and Lucifer.

“Please come back safe,” whispered Crowley, sounding much more vulnerable than he intended. “I can’t lose you. Not again.”

A burning bookshop, his entire world gone in an instant and Crowley left with an agonizing emptiness inside. Grief was love with nowhere left to go. And that much grief would destroy him if Crowley was forced to bear it a second time.

“Everything will work out. And I have no intention of leaving you.”

* * *

Beelzebub watched in stunned silence as the traitor finished drying off the holy water using the towel that Archangel Michael miracle up. Every part of the display was a clear demonstration of power and lack of fear. Obvious enough to even the densest demon in the terrified audience.

Crowley had practically bathed in the deadly substance, splashing it around lazily and threateningly. Unharmed and intact despite all logic. Any demon should have melted away. He should be gone as if he never existed. And yet he treated the holy water as if it was a relaxing soak.  
Then the traitor rubbed his entire body with the towel, covering himself in Michael’s angelic scent. An obvious sign that he held no fear of the devil. That he felt secure enough in his own power and strange new abilities to practically tempt Lucifer to make a move.

Lucifer’s obsession and lust towards Michael was an open secret within Hell. It didn’t take long for demons to realize how the devil would react when they were in his presence with the scent of an angel clinging to them. There were several near discorporation and wounded true forms in the first couple thousand years. And he was not exactly subtle about why he targeted the demons that he did. Word got around.

Some of the more powerful demons were masochists and would purposefully seek out skirmishes with the opposite side specifically to catch Lucifer’s attention. They enjoyed the painful and dangerous encounters with the devil. And in the black market that Hell **obviously** cultivated, there was a semi-decent trade in various objects stolen from Heaven or angels for that specific purpose. Ligur used to be get some best stuff through certain backchannels. Jackets and such that still carried angelic scents whenever Heaven updated their wardrobes.

And that was just angels in general. Michael specifically would undoubtedly provoke an even stronger reaction. There was a reason why Lucifer wasn’t overseeing the execution personally. Heaven and Hell needed to cooperate concerning the two traitors and that meant not tempting fate by having Lucifer and Michael in the same room together.

Not to mention that Lucifer was doing the more dignified version of sulking in his personal chambers after the Anti-Christ’s little rebellion.

So yes, some of the stronger denizens of Hell might try to take advantage of Lucifer’s reaction towards angels. But most demons, especially the weaker ones that would be broken or destroyed by his size and power, would rather dive into pools of burning sulfur that catch the devil’s attention in that way. Beelzebub knew where the line was on how strong a demon needed to be for their essence to withstand Lucifer’s assault. And while Crowley was clever and creative, he wasn’t that strong. He knew how to use what power that he had to his best advantage, but he was nowhere in the same power level.

By asking for a towel from Michael specifically and using it, Crowley was making a statement: he didn’t fear Lucifer.

“I trust that we’re done here,” said Crowley, grinning in a dangerous way as he wrung out the towel and neatly folded it. Then he started pulling on the rest of his clothes. “Because as entertaining as this might be, I have better things to do this afternoon. Places to go, people to see. You know how it is.”

“Don’t presszz your luck,” said Beelzebub, their voice pitched low. “We may not be able to have the proper public execution that you deserve, but there are other wayzzz to punish you if you test us.” They glared at Crowley, who pulled on his jacket with a bored expression. “It isn’t too late to drag you before Lord Satan.”

Giving them a cool and unconcerned look, Crowley said, “Disturbing him after the apocalypse fiasco sounds more dangerous for you than simply quitting while you’re ahead. I wouldn’t want you to risk setting off his temper.”

“And what if his temper is exactly what I want?” they asked, grinning viciously.

There were only a handful of demons that could handle Lucifer’s fury and lust. He was too powerful and vast for most of them to mix their essences together safely. And Lucifer’s refusal to adopt a more standard-sized corporation tended to be rough on the other demon’s corporeal bodies.[12]

But Beelzebub had certain advantages over most of Hell. They weren’t as strong as Lucifer, but their true form was close enough. They were strong enough to withstand his immensity without shattering under his power. And as a Prince of Hell, Beelzebub could pull a few strings and put in a requisition for a secondary corporation that they kept stored in a spare closet. A custom model, larger than normal and designed to hold up to Lucifer’s rough treatment.

Beelzebub using a backup body to satisfy Lucifer’s rage and lust saved a lot of wear and tear on the rest of Hell’s population. And he seemed to prefer someone who could struggle and resist to an extent. It made it easier for Lucifer to pretend that they were Michael. In exchange, he didn’t seem to notice or care who Beelzebub pretended to be with. If they preferred to imagine attacking and being attacked by a purple-eyed Archangel, that was Beelzebub’s business and no one else’s.

Beelzebub had plans for Armageddon. Plans concerning Gabriel. Vicious, violent, and arousing plans that the Anti-Christ ruined. Him and the pair of traitors. Beelzebub was denied what they wanted just as Lucifer was denied his destined encounter with Michael during the final War. But while Beelzebub could temper their disappointment, needing to focus on wrangling an army of blood-thirsty demons back into order and organizing an execution that had ended up failing, Lucifer went directly towards fury and frustration. The kind of agitated frustration that could easily become arousal and lust.

If they played their cards right, they were in for an entertaining evening.

“If I stay here too long, Aziraphale will come down to get me,” said Crowley evenly. “And the last thing that you need down here is an angry angel looking for an excuse to smite someone and completely immune to hellfire. I’m the reasonable one of us. Honestly, its better for everyone if we pretend this whole execution thing never happened and I leave before he gets impatient.”

Michael almost looked pale at the reveal that the second execution was probably also a failure. Crowley certainly didn’t seem worried about his angelic boyfriend’s fate. Whatever weird immunity that the demon had, the other traitor apparently also picked it up. Straightening his jacket sleeves and pulling on his sunglasses, Crowley smirked at the Archangel.

“Yeah, you should go check on Gabriel. He’s probably having a bad day.”

Rubbing at what was a decent start of a migraine, Beelzebub said, “Fine. I want this over with already. Traitor, get out of here before I change my mind. If you come back here, you’re Satan’s personal property for the next several thousand years. Michael, get rid of every drop of holy water before someone is stupid enough to fall in. Dagon, try to keep everyone from freaking out worse than they already are. We don’t need a panic. Or worse, an uprising.”

“But you **can’t** let him go,” said Hastur sharply. “He destroyed Ligur and messed up the apocalypse. He can’t get away with that.”

“I don’t take orders from **demons** ,” snapped Michael at the same time.

Shrugging as he turned to leave, Crowley said, “Got it. Next time you throw a pool party, add some bebop or something. Make it interesting.”

“Shut up, Hastur,” said Beelzebub, ignoring the traitor’s parting comment. “And Michael? Either get rid of the holy water or Heaven gets a permanent pillar of hellfire. It isn’t too late for us to leave it up there. Your choice.”

She narrowed her eyes, but Michael snapped her fingers. The bathtub and the folded towel were left bone dry. Then the Archangel was gone, marching towards the elevator. Crowley had apparently already headed towards the escalator to Earth. That was two headaches gone.

“Dagon, you’re in charge,” they said. “If anyone gets any dumb ideas, you know what to do. Just because the traitor is a freak now doesn’t mean the rest of Hell can get away with whatever they want.”

“Of course,” she said with a nod.

“In the meantime,” said Beelzebub, snatching up the now dry towel, “I will deliver a report to Lord Satan personally.”

And with that, they stalked off deeper into Hell. A quick stop to a certain discreet closet to trade out their corporeal body for a larger, tougher, and disposable model. Then Beelzebub intended to wrap the towel around their shoulders until Michael’s scent soaked into them. Strong enough that Lucifer wouldn’t be able to resist. Not that he would want to resist after he was denied his right to attack Michael after six thousand years of waiting. He would want some kind of release for those pent-up feelings.

There would be snarls, bruises, screams, and scratches. And intense ecstasy as they both chased after their burning peaks of arousal. If Beelzebub played their cards right, they wouldn’t be leaving Lucifer’s chamber for at least several hours. A fabric miracled into existence wouldn’t lose Michael’s scent easily. Beelzebub looked forward to testing his endurance.

* * *

On a bench in the park, a demon and an angel sat together. Then they clasped hands and it was an angel and a demon who were sitting together instead. Switching faces and places. And then they relaxed. In a way that they hadn’t in six thousand years, letting those centuries of tension and worry pour out of them. They laughed and smiled together, open and honest.

On their own side. No ties to Heaven or Hell. And nothing left to fear from those sides.

Smiling at the angel that he loved and feeling overwhelmingly thankful that Aziraphale was still alive and unharmed despite everything, Crowley invited him out to eat. And Aziraphale accepted without any hesitation or reluctance. There was no reason to hold back, after all.

That newfound freedom was a heady thing. An experience that Crowley was eager to explore. He wasn’t as naïve or innocent as he once was. Certainly not as much as he was before the Fall. Nor was he as inexperienced as he was when he first set foot in Lucifer’s personal chamber. Crowley had thousands of years of experience. But that didn’t mean that there weren’t new things that he could discover or old ones that he could appreciate anew. Such as taking his angel out to the Ritz to celebrate with no other excuse except that he wanted to be with Aziraphale.

And with the apocalypse on hold indefinitely, they had all the time in the world.

* * *

10 That lecture was from back before they Fell and was completely theoretical since no one had corporations at that point. It was part of the longer lecture about the physical plane and how properly interacting with the universe that they were still working on would require corporeal bodies that they would be assigned. Crawley zoned out through some of the lecture because he was busy trying to figure out how to handle the binary star system that he was assigned to work on next. [ ↑ ]

11 He’d seen Adam and Eve do something similar once when he was watching from a distance. A strange game that they both seemed to enjoy playing. One that Crawley didn’t understand, but also didn’t really pay much attention to anyway. But that game had ended with them curled up on the ground together in apparent contentment, not with pain, blood, and screams. And that major difference meant that Crawley couldn’t believe that they were the same thing, despite the similar appearance. [ ↑ ]

12 Convincing Lucifer to use a smaller and more human-looking corporation in order to produce the Anti-Christ was the most difficult task that Beelzebub had faced in thousands of years. [ ↑ ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends my first NSFW fic. I may write a sequel to it someday in the future. But for now, thanks for reading.


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